


halcyon days & solstice nights

by stubborn_jerk



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hadestown Fusion, Art, Death, Fluff and Angst, Foreshadowing, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Magic, Multi, POV Multiple, Singing, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubborn_jerk/pseuds/stubborn_jerk
Summary: How do you bring an entire planet back to life?With a love song that never ended well.Because it started in hell.(In which: an orphan meets a young lady in the middle of a war and a rough patch that spans planets and galaxies.)
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay, Jet Sikuliaq & Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev & Jet Sikuliaq, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Vespa Ilkay & Jet Sikuliaq
Comments: 97
Kudos: 50





	1. hard times

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: **_i got all my friends into hadestown and now they're suffering with me_**
> 
> so before we start this off, i wanna thank all my friends in the Trans Nureyev Server. with some special mentions to [jeannette](https://twitter.com/entropyre), [lyz](https://twitter.com/WalangSignature), [north](https://twitter.com/Northisnotup), and [sameer](http://twitter.com/MANGOClTRUS) for guiding and cheering me on throughout writing this. (but especially sameer bc i'm on call with sameer right now and i need everyone to know that because reasons.)
> 
> NOTE: in this au, juno and nureyev are 28 and 26 respectively. this also is still in the middle of The War(TM) in junoverse.
> 
> a'ight? a'ight!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nureyev knelt onto the floor next to Juno’s seat, held out his sad little flower, and said, “Come home with me.”
> 
> Jet put down the glass to rub at his forehead, aware of catching Juno’s gaze with his action.
> 
>  _Poets_ , Jet thought with a reasonable measure of irritation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: there will be mentions of alcohol. nothing particular because i do not drink. but, since this is set in a pub, i just wanted that heads up there.

As old as Oldtown was, it was relatively modern.

Old was not the broken-down dome of Hyperion City’s oldest and poorest sector. It was not the blistering heat of the sun or the frosty sandstorms, nor was it the sudden chill that overtook its denizens as the gods quarreled down below. 

It wasn’t even the ruins of ancient Martians past buried under miles and miles of red soil.

Old, instead, was a song.

A song of love and tragedy, of a story that never ends well but passes on in the hopes that it would. Poets and philosophers say it’s a facet of love, this pointless, endless fate of devotion to a failing cause.

Jet didn't really get it. He just knew that in the long run of his long, long life, this song had become so ingrained in human nature that it had the tendency to be sung by the occasional poet once a millennium.

One such poet, this time, was a boy named Peter Nureyev.

Nureyev was an orphan from a faraway planet, born of two divine beings Jet probably knew of but couldn't properly pin down. (He hasn’t really talked to any of the other gods since the War began.)

He’d been trying to figure out Nureyev’s parentage for a little over a year now, but it wasn't too hard to parse out the first half. Because unfortunately, it wasn’t just his voice Nureyev inherited from the god once known as Apollo.

Jet followed Nureyev’s eyesight to the newest face in the pub and could practically hear the Fates at work.

Jet sighed as he wiped down the countertop.

Juno Steel, a poor lady from Hyperion City, shivered by the doorway as he dusted off the red sands sticking to his coat and pack.

“Anybody got a match?” He asked around the pub.

Jet pulled a matchbook from behind the bar and tossed it to him. Juno muttered his thanks and took a seat.

Now, both as a barkeep and a god, Jet was no stranger to travelers. He knew those who prayed to him and this one was a regular from a young age.

Juno Steel was once from Oldtown and had left in hopes of greener pastures, cooler summers, and warmer winters. And to move past his brother's death.

Seeing him here told Jet a few things:

  * Hyperion had not been kinder than Oldtown;
  * Juno was at the end of his candle’s wick; and,
  * He was going to break Nureyev's heart.



(Well.

That last one was just from experience.)

Nureyev shuffled in his posture as he stood next to the bar, then grabbed one of the errant tissue papers from a nearby table.

Jet watched as he tore it up and twisted it into a vague facsimile of a flower.

Jet stifled another sigh and nodded to himself.

Say what you wanted about Peter Nureyev. He was a talented poet with the voice of an angel, but he was terrible at origami.

“You want to talk to him?”

Nureyev jolted, no doubt surprised by the sudden presence of his acting landlord and boss. Jet bit back an apology and wiped the water off a clean glass.

“Um.”

“Him.” Jet nodded towards Juno, who was warming his hands by the candle’s tiny flame.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, Jet knew.

“Yes,” came Nureyev’s determined answer.

“Good luck,” he offered.

Then, knowing just how intense Nureyev was, he held a hand up to stop him before he went.

“Don’t come on too strong. That lady’s been through a lot and he might be a bit…”

'Tetchy’ sounded wrong.

‘Harsh’ was kind of an understatement.

“Much,” he settled.

Nureyev nodded, emanating nervous energy, and definitely not listening.

He was so _young_.

What came next was more akin to watching the first car crash happen. Or the lead up to a war.

Nureyev knelt onto the floor next to Juno’s seat, held out his sad little flower, and said, “Come home with me.”

Jet put down the glass to rub at his forehead, aware of catching Juno’s gaze with his action.

 _Poets_ , Jet thought with a reasonable measure of irritation.

Juno looked down at Nureyev, shifting his candle away, like a few words from him could blow it out. “Who are you?”

“The man who’s going to marry you,” Nureyev declared, more bravado than afterthought, really. “You can call me Ransom but I’m partial to any nicknames you want to give me.”

"Is this a... prank? Did Cecil put you up to this? Or was it Mick.”

“Nope. I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

“Is he _always_ like this?” Juno asked haltingly, looking towards Jet with alarm, concern, and helplessness in his eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

Never one to be impolite to staff, Juno set aside his candle and faced Nureyev. “I’m Juno.”

“Juno. Ju-no,” Nureyev sounded out, moving to stand in a fluid motion.

Juno jolted back, jumpy. “Yep, that’s— Listen, I’m really not gonna stay long, I don’t—”

“Your name is very lovely. Ancient too! The goddess of motherhood and an avenger of men. I’ve read about the tales of her and Jupiter, though mostly the ones when they were still Hera and Zeus.”

Jet closed his eyes, knowing that Nureyev _definitely_ hit a nerve somewhere. He didn’t know the whole story, but he knew Juno didn’t like his mother very much.

“Someone liked doing their homework a bit much. What, are you a… I dunno, a poet?”

Nureyev seemed delighted by the prospect of Juno wanting to know more about him, unaware of the bitter edge to Juno’s tone. “I’m a singer, actually. I play the guitar, the lyre, the—”

Juno snorted. Almost to himself, he muttered, “A liar _and_ a player?”

“Excuse me, what was that?”

Juno shook his head. “Nothing.” Louder, he said, “Look, sorry, pal. Whatever your name is. I’ve met way too many people like you who think it’s cute to just propose on sight. _You’re_ cute and all, but," he shook his head, " Just… leave me alone.”

“Oh, dear, I’m not like anyone you've met,” Nureyev said, hand to his chest.

"Yeah?" Juno smirked. "You think I haven't dated singers before?"

Nureyev chuckled at that. "I don't doubt it, with the way you look but you haven't heard _me_ sing."

"Coming on a little strong there, bud."

Nureyev hummed, then paced around Juno's table. Jet watched this exchange with some curiosity as Juno turned to warily eye Nureyev.

Nureyev sat on the table, looming over Juno. "You see that?" He pointed at the entrance.

The entrance to The Ruby was paned in glass and the copper auto doors Jet had insisted on. It was old fashioned, but he didn't mind. Outside the pub was nothing but red sands. Jet thought maybe the storm would last maybe a few more minutes but the weather on Mars was as solid as water.

"You mean the sandstorm," Juno deadpanned. "Yeah, I can see it. I just came _from_ it."

"I can change that," Nureyev said.

Juno laughed. "You? Change things? You a god or something? Because unless you are, we can't do anything." This was accompanied by a brief glance at Jet.

Nureyev grinned. He jumped off the table and knelt before Juno once more.

It reminded Jet of supplication, of exiled princes and kings and wars that lasted decades. It made him feel his age, jaded, watching these two young lovers going through the motions of another song the Fates have rewritten.

“I’m working on a song that will fix Mars.” Nureyev presented his stupid flower to Juno once more. “It’ll bring everything back, and flowers and trees will bloom everywhere like the seasons on Earth. Sandstorms will stop for six whole months a year and there will be enough food for everyone without rationing.”

Juno blindly reached for the presented flower, mesmerized by the determination that was undoubtedly in Nureyev’s eyes.

Jet knew Nureyev had been working on something for quite some time now. He could hear him muttering during shifts, something he mostly did when he was lost in thought instead of the hypervigilant jumble of nerves that he'd been when he asked to stay in the vacant apartment above The Ruby.

Nureyev said, “But only if you become my wife.”

Juno’s hand froze.

He laughed, a syllable mocking and breathless, dropping his hand to his lap. “I get it. You’re… _crazy_. Mars has never had a spring or genuine flora since _before_ humans on Earth found it millennia ago. What makes you think you’ll bring— bring spring back to this _dead rock_?”

Nureyev shrugged. “Well, give me a chance to show you how.” He spun the flower by its twisted stem with a flourish.

Juno considered this, Nureyev, and the flower.

A few beats passed where it seemed like Nureyev was starting to flag a bit with his determination. Jet took this time to attend to the few customers they had. It was almost closing time and people were slowly trickling out, paying their tabs.

Then, Juno said, “Sure. A chance.”

He plucked the flower from Nureyev’s grasp. “I’ll give you till the sandstorms get here.”

And with that, Nureyev happily went back to work.

* * *

That Ransom fella was… weird, to say the least.

He had the brightest, most hopeful eyes Juno had ever seen from someone who lived in rickety Oldtown. He also had a way with words that could paint the most vivid pictures in your head.

It was nothing short of impressive.

Juno took a swig of whatever cheapest swill they served around the pub and watched Ransom serve and clean with a fake smile. Every now and again, he’d glance towards Juno and smile more genuinely.

A smile like that made Juno feel like he was going to live forever. The romantic in him thrilled at the sight of it. He couldn’t help the smile he gave in return.

Couldn’t help the way it dropped once Ransom turned away either.

It was just that Juno couldn’t really say he _wanted to_ live forever. He wanted food when he was hungry, and warmth when he was cold. He wanted to lay down and rest when the work had given him all he needed and didn't want to have to worry about living off scraps and trading ration tickets.

And look, it was flattering.

Ransom was confident if a little cocky, overall good-looking guy. What kind of romantic lady wouldn’t want a charming guy to propose to you on sight, right?

But it was a pipe dream. Nothing good ever came from a pretty face, Juno thought. Not in a world like this, not even with Juno’s credit account being half-full as it was. The War was ravaging the Solar System, the entire _galaxy_ , and there was nothing left for anyone but the rich, and they just. Kept. Dying.

Juno _loved_ the idea of having enough for everyone. But it felt… surreal to believe it, childish, even.

Every time Ransom caught his eye, he wanted to believe in it and it made him feel… a lot. It made him feel a lot, alright? And feeling a lot for someone he’d just met felt both liberating _and_ terrifying at the same time.

Then there was the barkeep.

Jet Sikuliaq, a known name around this block of Oldtown, sat on a barstool off to the side, looking over The Ruby’s patrons. He caught Juno’s gaze and gave a nod in greeting.

Juno ducked his head.

See, the reason Jet was a known name was because of the rumors of him being a god.

If Juno knew one thing about the gods, it was that they were always going to be some kind of bad news. More than half of them were pushing the War on, they had to be, for it to last this long.

Juno may be swayed by the occasional pretty face (exhibit A: the stranger who’d proposed and made promises and swept him off his feet within the span of three minutes), but he knew that those rumors were true and he couldn’t trust it.

What kind of god would run a business on the rundown side of Oldtown? And what kind of god would play wingman to some mortal?

There was a War. People were dying.

“This is from a song I’m writing.”

Juno’s head snapped up.

Ransom was on the stage, holding an ornate tenor guitar to his hip, looking directly at Juno with those bright eyes of his.

“It’s more of a melody right now, so bear with me. I’ll give a proper performance afterward. This one’s for the lady in the back who called me crazy.”

The chords he plucked were tentative, its tempo simple but holding. Despite the clamor in and out of the pub, it rang loud, like it was playing inside Juno’s head.

Juno felt pinned down and lifted up all at once. He could see trust in those eyes. It was the kind of trust that, in the long line of things Juno had already ruined, he didn’t want to.

Felt like you could fix the whole damn galaxy, with someone looking at you like that. Screw the gods, screw those clowns in Hyperion.

Just him and Ransom.

Then, Ransom closed his eyes and began to sing.

It was a lyric-less, high melody. The kind that made its supporting chords fade into the backdrop. It shook the floorboards and made the air sing with it. It ebbed and flowed like a wave on a lakeshore, a song of an emotion Juno could feel plucked straight from his chest as he stared at its source.

Juno stood. In the whole pub, he was the only one to.

A vine grew and crawled out the soundhole of Ransom’s guitar. Juno watched it bloom at an unnatural speed.

And when Ransom finished his tune, he plucked the flower from its stem, red and fresh. It was real. It looked like it’d been growing there for a long time.

He fiddled with its stem-like he had with the tissue paper one he made for Juno earlier, spinning it around in the light in wonder. Like the last one, he held it out to Juno.

Juno approached the stage slowly, confusion no doubt clear on his face. “How’d you do that?”

Ransom shrugged. “I don’t know. But like I said, the song’s not finished yet.”

Juno took the flower from him, ignoring the thrill running up his spine at the brush of their fingers. “And it does this every time you sing it?”

Suddenly, Jet and Ransom’s familiarity with each other didn’t seem so suspect. Of course, Ransom was gifted.

What didn’t make sense now was why Juno.

“Yes.”

Juno looked up at Ransom. “You might actually have a chance at this.”

“At what?”

“Bringing life back to Mars,” he said, couldn’t help the wonder and awe making his voice quiver. “You have to finish it.”

“I know,” Ransom said gravely. Then, like the clouds parting, he smiled, cheeky and fond. “ _Now_ , will you marry me?”

Juno brought the flower to his chest, rolling his eyes. He could feel his face heating up at the sight of those sharp teeth peeking out. “Don’t get cocky about it. Not that easy, remember?”

Ransom stood to his full height, looking as divine as his voice sounded and as fallible as the wobble in his smile. The sight of him made Juno warm down to the bones. “Good. I like a challenge.”

Juno bit down a smile and turned to walk back to his seat, pocketing the impossible flower in his coat.

* * *

Jet knocked at his door.

No one else would have knocked at Nureyev’s door, especially not at this time of night.

Nureyev called out for him to let himself in and only looked up once the door hissed close once more.

“Where did you get that melody from earlier?” Jet asked, never one for greetings.

Nureyev vacantly plucked the tune on his guitar, already having pulled vines out of its sound hole multiple times. Its siblings stood in a cleaned-out bottle in the middle of his meager dining table. “It just came to me. It felt… distant, familiar. Like I’ve heard it before.”

Jet took a seat at his dinner table. “You might have. It’s from an old song.”

Nureyev laughed. “ _You_ know it? It must be old, then.”

Jet looked at him, unimpressed. “Older than the language you speak, boy.”

Nureyev held his hands up placatingly. “I mean no offense, Jet.”

“I know.”

Silence followed this.

After a year of long silences between conversations with Jet, Nureyev knew to continue the conversation before Jet got bored and left. “So, what was it about?”

“Love.”

Nureyev felt his face heat.

He _had_ been working on the song before today. He wasn’t a mechanical writer, didn’t think in scales or rhythms. He worked it by feeling and sang with his heart.

But Juno had opened those doors and stepped in, framed against the sky like a moving painting, looking so terribly lonely in all its open space. The melody rang true in his heart at that moment, a heady repeating tune that he had to pour out of him or else.

Surprisingly, Jet was the one to pick up the thread this time. “Do you remember that story I told you about the gods?”

Nureyev snapped out of it, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You have to be more specific than that. There are thousands of stories about the gods and a few dozen you’ve told me between shifts.”

“Hades and Persephone.”

Again, his chest rang with the names, bold and ancient, like a guitar humming against his front.

“The one about the seasons, you mean.” Nureyev had read about them before, but he didn’t remember when Jet specifically told him about it. “Hades and Persephone’s elopement. Demeter’s rage killing the crops. The decision between their love and the earth’s death. You were there, with a different name.”

Jet huffed, amused, an expression Nureyev rarely saw on him. “Yes. They were young, in love. The song wasn’t so much _about_ them than it _was_ their love, the way it changed the seasons. She and Hades used to sing it when they came up for spring and came down for fall.”

Nureyev considered this for a moment.

There was a fondness there. He knew the stories, knew that Jet would have been there to see the events firsthand. There were a thousand questions in his head and a voice telling him to stick to the now and save his future for later.

He asked, “Do you still get to see them?”

Jet blinked.

Nureyev set his guitar aside. “Persephone is your sister, yes?”

Jet nodded. “I rarely have to carry out messages to them anymore. Not much work for a messenger when we all have comms nowadays,” Jet explained with a gesture. His comms appeared from what seemed to be nowhere.

Nureyev didn’t fully understand it but nodded anyway. “Why do you think they don't come _here_ , then?”

Jet looked at him gravely then. “I think you know why, Nureyev.”

He stifled a wince at the sound of his name in Jet’s voice. He knew, of course, that Jet Sikuliaq would have known but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “ _What_ does it imply, exactly?”

Jet inclined his head. “You do not like it when I call you by your name?”

Nureyev shook his head. “Just don’t use it in public, please.”

“Of course, my apologies.”

For a god, Jet was polite.

“Well?”

Jet sighed. “You will understand soon.”

Nureyev snorted bitterly. It was a small mercy that Jet never called him Peter. “When I grow up, I assume?”

“Yes. But I see your point. Maybe I will leave her a message tonight. It’s been a while since we’ve spoken.”

When Nureyev looked up to ask what he meant, Jet was gone.

On his seat was a candle, lit and flickering in the dim light of his apartment.

* * *

The work was grueling but the hours were manageable. He didn’t need to do it, he just wanted to. The longer it kept him out of pubs and beer houses, the better, like his brother used to say.

Juno just wished he enjoyed it more than hated it.

He leaned against the grimy alley walls of the diner, knowing that he was due for a shower and a good five to six hours of sleep if he could manage it. Working the graveyard shift became easier the further he drifted away from Hyperion’s nightlife.

“Juno?”

He tensed, squinting past the light at the end of the alley. He tried to muster up the will to fight, palming against the plasma cutter stitched into his sleeve. He hoped it wouldn’t get to that, but he had to be ready for it.

Turns out, he didn’t have to go through all the trouble.

It was just Ransom, out of his working apron and in what seemed to be casual clothes— a ratty old sweater that was just a few sizes larger on his frame and skinny jeans that seemed a lot cleaner than anything else Juno had in his backpack. He shifted from foot to foot as Juno stared at him, rolling his shoulders against the tenor guitar strapped to his back.

That was one of the few things that felt off about Ransom. There was just _something_ about him.

(Well, apart from the fact that Juno still had no clue what the guy’s actual name was. He’d asked around about him at work and it seemed like he introduced himself to different people with different names.)

Was it the way he spoke? The way he carried himself, maybe? It could be the literal way his voice could summon plants out of nowhere, but… there was just a certain _je ne sais quoi_.

It didn’t add up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning up?” Juno checked his comms for the time. “It’s barely past four in the morning.”

“Jet closed early,” he explained. “Something about his sister. Anyway, I was just looking for you.”

Juno sighed and pushed himself off the filthy wall to make his way down to the mouth of the alley. He pulled his jacket a little tighter against himself when a breeze blew past them just as he reached Ransom.

Ransom smiled at him, eyes bright—just because of the way the street was lit, not because of any powerful emotion there.

There were a lot of 24-hour establishments on this side of Oldtown, most of them not for kids. Despite the context, the lights whittled down the sharp edges of Ransom’s cheekbones and made him look years younger than he really was.

Or maybe just as young as he was.

It struck Juno then that the uncanny vibe Ransom had going on was his agelessness.

“How old are you?” Juno asked.

“Old enough to drink.”

“On Mars or on Earth?”

Ransom inclined his head, forehead wrinkling in confusion. Juno would think it cute had he been less tired. “There’s a difference?”

“Age of consent is eight,” Juno stated.

Instead of commenting on that, Ransom started walking. Juno fumbled to follow.

“You’re… you’re not from around here, huh?”

Ransom only hummed to himself.

Juno let him go on like this until they reached the end of the block, past the hotel he was staying at. “Where are you taking me?”

“My, you ask quite a lot of questions,” Ransom finally commented. “You’ll spoil your surprise.”

Juno, despite himself, continued following. “Are you going to hit me up the head with your guitar and murder me in an alley?”

Ransom stopped at this and looked down at him, bemused and vaguely terrified of Juno’s paranoia, “If I were, would I even answer that?”

Juno shrugged.

Ransom snorted. “Well, no. I was just going to get you somewhere no one else could see and sing a song.”

This pushed a laugh out of Juno. Laughs were rarely voluntary these days. “You. You know, right—”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “Yes, Juno, I’m extremely aware of how ridiculous that sounds. But I’m not lying! There!”

He pointed at a lone street lamp, the last one at the end of the road. It led nowhere, and it was right up against the dome wall, giving them a nice view of the Valles Marineris’ canyon walls bordering their dome for miles and miles, craggy cliffs going up higher than Juno could even see.

Part of Juno thought maybe he should feel a little claustrophobic at the sight. But curiosity got the better of it as Ransom jogged ahead of him and stood under the blinking street lamp’s light like he was under a spotlight.

Juno stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms more to hug himself against the faulty suction this close to the dome’s edges.

Ransom didn’t seem all too bothered by the cold, just slinging his guitar over his shoulder and plucking at strings to check if it was all in working order.

Then, it all clicked.

Juno covered his flustered grin with a hand. “You gonna serenade me, Mister Ransom? Is _that_ your surprise?”

Ransom smiled again. Under his warm and faulty spotlight, it made Juno’s heart beat fast and his face heat. “Maybe, Mister…” He trailed off, then laid his strumming hand against the top of his guitar. “You know, Juno. I never got your last name.”

“And I never got your first,” Juno parried.

“Peter. And, it’s Nureyev, actually,” he answered, looking a little more vulnerable now. It was a novel thing, seeing vulnerability in such a confident man. “Peter Nureyev. But just… call me Ransom in public. Please.”

Juno nodded. “I’m Juno Steel. Nice to meet you.”

“Juno Steel,” Nureyev breathed, reverence in his tone. “Your name is so lovely.”

Juno couldn’t help the smile in his voice. “You used that pickup line already.”

“It’s not a pickup line, it’s a genuine compliment,” he defended.

Juno shook his head, biting down a laugh. “Weren’t you going to sing for me, Nureyev?”

Nureyev smiled blankly at him for a second, then snapped out of it. “Right! Right, well. I’ve gotten some pointers from Jet recently about that melody I sang the other day. So, I brought you here just so that what happened last time won’t… affect any other houses. Or break my guitar, maybe.”

“Did it almost break your guitar?” Juno asked, concerned.

“I had to pull out a lot more flowers but when I added the lyrics, the plants started growing on the floorboards.”

Juno winced.

Nureyev shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Juno glanced out from the dome. “Well, I hope it doesn’t… break the wall.”

“If it does, then the wall shouldn’t have been there, to begin with.”

Before Juno could say anything to that, he began strumming.

And began to sing.

He sang a song of an old story, of a lonely underworld king and her marriage with a lady from the gardens above.

Juno had heard this story before, a bedtime tale from good old Ma Steel. But instead of bringing him back to the days of Halcyon Park, it brought him back to the experience of hearing it for the first time, of the wonder it brought.

He felt seen, vulnerable, with the way Nureyev described a love so powerful it made the seasons.

 _Hades and Persephone_ , Sarah Steel whispered in the back of his mind. Those were their names.

Archaic, like Juno. Like Benzaiten.

The change around them was a little less alarming this time. Juno was prepared for it.

The air sang with Nureyev, the red soil churned to brown, to near black. Outside the dome, grass bloomed. So too, beneath their feet.

Then, flowers started sprouting, and shrubs and young trees. Vines wrapped and curled around the street lamp. Its flickering ceased, now a steady ray on Nureyev.

Then, that same melody from that same divine voice from this same ageless man.

Juno stepped forward, the cold forgotten, into the light.

Then took another step and another.

He stopped just as the tune faded and the song ended

Nureyev opened his eyes.

Juno reached up, got on his toes, and kissed him.

Nureyev didn’t keep him straining for long, pushing his guitar out of the way and leaning down to hold him close.

Warmth. It kissed his skin through the layers of clothes he wore to ward off the cold, made the hairs on his arms raise as he wrapped his arms tighter around Nureyev’s neck.

Nureyev’s hands wandered, one snaking around his waist, one sinking fingers into his curls.

His lips were impossibly smooth against Juno’s.

He licked at Juno’s lower lip, pulling a noise from his throat.

It wasn’t going to last forever.

Yet Juno foolishly wanted it to.

A breeze blew past them and Juno shivered again.

Nureyev held tight.

That, of all things, made the momentum of it shatter. It didn’t end, but Juno saw how it would if he kept at it.

Juno pushed against him, looking up at those eyes.

“Nureyev,” he croaked.

“Juno…”

Juno froze there, wanting to dive back in, wanting to be held forever by this impossible man, listen to him sing for as long as he lived, watch him bring a dead planet back to life. He wanted to see it all.

“I take it my singing was wonderful, then,” Nureyev muttered after too long.

That broke him out of his reverie with a laugh that made a smile bloom on Nureyev’s face.

Juno bumped Nureyev’s chin with his forehead, nuzzled at his neck when Nureyev let him.

“Sing like that a few more times and you might get lucky,” Juno quipped from the safety of the crook of Nureyev’s neck, hiding his smile. There was a scent there Juno couldn’t place or describe, an aroma that was as intoxicating as their kiss had been.

“Well, that sounds promising,” Nureyev said. “Does that mean you’ll marr—”

Juno had leaned back to put a finger against his lips. He whispered, “Ask me again when I tell you.”

Nureyev smiled with his eyes too, Juno observed. It made him look younger, made Juno feel invincible.

Like all good things, it had to come to an end, he thought.

He let out a jaw-cracking yawn that made Nureyev laugh.

Juno stepped away from his grasp. Immediately, the cold came rushing in.

He _wanted_.

He wanted so many things. He wanted the War to stop. He wanted to feel like he deserved this. He wanted to feel safe and warm. He wanted Nureyev’s arms around him. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to rest his head against Nureyev, to hear the rhythm of his heartbeat. He wanted to wake up to that smile, to those eyes, every morning, feeling like he could do anything.

He could have it.

But he didn’t need it, he thought.

“Walk me to my hotel?” Juno asked as he took another step away. Only Nureyev was lit by the lamplight now.

Nureyev held his hand out into the shadows. “As you wish, my lady.”

Juno rolled his eyes but laced their fingers together anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you know that...  
> \- orpheus is the root word for orphan? (which fits because nureyev is Also an orphan)  
> \- poets used to sing because all stories were sung in the old days for easier memorization. that's why every myth, epic, or whatever else has a prayer to at least one of the nine muses or apollo himself.  
> \- mars has been a dead planet since a _long_ ass time and it would have revitalized itself if the main crater that killed most of any probable ancient martians didn't leave a huge hole in the atmosphere where sandstorms push air and moisture out of


	2. in spite of themselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _There’s a special guest at The Ruby tonight, and I wanted you to meet her early._ ”
> 
> “Who?”
> 
> “ _Head on over and I’ll tell you,_ ” was Nureyev’s cheeky reply.
> 
> Juno was about to reply with something along the lines of ‘what if I have work today,’ but Nureyev hung up.
> 
> “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Juno muttered as he pocketed his keys and began to make his way down to The Ruby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: as per hadestown requirements, there's some alcohol. no specifics and no one gets blackout drunk, but it's there. there's also going to be a fade-to-black sex scene in this one, so the build up's in it but it's nothing explicit. it's pretty sweet. 
> 
> y'all stay safe now, have fun!

It spread through Hyperion City as it did everywhere else: slowly like the soft drip, drip, dripping of melting ice.

There was no change in the dome’s settings. _Those_ had been set to keep its inhabitants _alive_ , not comfortable. 

The air warmed despite it though, gusts of artificial air and Martian air mixing from chilling to relieving. Cloning farms and pastures on-planet maintained their paces, making produce at the steady tempo it was allowed to be in: just below enough for the population it supplied.

Jet arranged his business as the time came closer. He left Nureyev in charge some nights as he attended meetings with community leaders to prepare.

Hyperion’s lowest rung was about as prepared as Jet could get them when she finally did arrive.

No ice or frost on windows and roofs, this sandstorm season. Not with her around.

Overnight, in the less terraformed and built over plots of soil around the outskirts of Hyperion, the earth darkened and cracked open with life. Farms were forced to double production. Comms calls connected left and right as the excess was shipped, not to the _inner_ city, but to the outskirts of Oldtown.

And for the first time since humans colonized Mars, Spring came.

* * *

It was warm when he woke.

It had been warm for the past few weeks already, but he’d waved it off as rose-tinted glasses. The honeymoon phase. Whatever you wanted to call that feeling when you finally get to kiss the person you like all the time. Time spent with Nureyev was content and cozy, each moment making him forget about the cold and dark and the looming sandstorms that plagued Oldtown and the promise he made.

(It wasn’t a warmth Juno was overly familiar with but some things he just had to revel in.)

But no, this wasn’t the fuzzy feeling of a lot of emotions at once. This was the _literal_ kind of cozy warmth that was only attainable beside a space heater and a few blankets.

In a place like Hyperion City, warmth was a luxury only the rich could afford, especially during the War. This city had no business being comfortable for people like him, much less in a place like Oldtown where the domes were left deliberately less maintained.

His comms beeped.

Juno threw the blankets off of his face and rolled over to reach for it on the nightstand.

Only three people had his comms line.

Okay, untrue. _A lot_ of people had his comms line, but only three of them called semi-regularly.

One of them only called him for emergencies and favors. The other, he left but never blocked (mostly because he didn’t know how to).

The last one was fairly recent. About two weeks recently actually, and called Juno whenever. This one, he answered without question because he wanted to.

Like now.

Juno picked up.

“Little late for a booty call but I’ll bite,” he quipped, rubbing the grit from his eye.

Nureyev laughed over the line. “ _Good afternoon to you too, Juno._ ”

Juno yawned as he kicked his feet into his boots. “It’s that late? No, never mind. Why are you calling?”

“ _Well, there’s a special guest at The Ruby tonight, and I wanted you to meet her early._ ”

“Who?”

“ _Head on over and I’ll tell you,_ ” was Nureyev’s cheeky reply.

Juno was about to reply with something along the lines of ‘what if I have work today,’ but Nureyev already hung up.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Juno muttered as he pocketed his keys and began to make his way down to The Ruby.

He might not have been in Oldtown in a while but he knew what unusual for Oldtown was like. Like opening the blinds and noticing the dust on every surface, once he noticed the turn in the weather, the more he saw how much it was already affecting Oldtown. 

There were a lot of people out in the streets, even for a weekend. Children were out with their friends, their parents chatting amongst each other. Closer to the school district, he could even spot the line for rations and the drafts, always right next to each other to drive the point home. 

He looked up at the dome ceiling and found nothing but projected daylight. A breeze blew past that didn’t have him shivering in his coat. 

He turned the block and stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a crowd in front of The Ruby.

At mid-noon.

“Day just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” Juno said to himself, pushing forward.

As he came closer, he found that the crowd wasn’t just in front of the pub but actually trying to get in. They were bottlenecked, congested, all murmuring something about getting what they could be given.

Juno squeezed through between random onlookers. He stood up to his toes to get a clear look at what the commotion was all about as he looked for any signs of Nureyev or Jet.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder.

“Hey. You’re him, right?”

Juno yelped and twisted around.

Whoever they were, they struck Juno a bit speechless.

They were less than a foot taller than him, in a dress suit of earthy browns and greens, topped with a shock of green hair. They held the same quality of agelessness to them as Nureyev did. There was an overpowering smell of something heady and fragrant about them that Juno couldn’t describe.

“Do I… know you?” Juno asked once he found his voice, about as politely as he could. Which wasn’t really as polite at all.

“Call me Vespa,” they said. “I’m Jet’s sister. Are you Juno?”

Juno could only nod.

“Come on then. That Ransom guy’s looking for you.”

Vespa took him by the shoulder and led him out of the crowd.

A bit baffled at the idea of Jet having a sister so short and the implications of that, Juno couldn’t find it in him to protest as they nudged him along.

They led him past The Ruby’s crowded entrance and into the side alley. The fence gate there was open.

Juno was about to peer past it when Vespa started talking.

“Ever seen an actual tree before?” they asked, glancing down at him.

“Uh, no,” Juno answered, making sure to meet their eyes. “Clones, sure, down at Halcyon Park a-and Hyperion Square. But not any actual…”

“Good,” Vespa said, sounding smug.

This was because Juno had just been rendered speechless.

Behind The Ruby and the line of buildings on its block was supposed to be a buffer between the dome and Oldtown’s settlements. This was where the concrete ended and the sand began, where all the wind got picked up by the atmospheric settings and the occasional cold draft.

Of course, it was _supposed_ to be that. Instead, it was populated with a whole copse of trees with fruits Juno had never seen before, carpeted with… Juno conceptually knew it was actual grass. 

There were other people milling around, looking to have come in from the street. They all had bags with them, helping each other pick fruits. 

Nureyev was under one of the trees, holding a laundry hamper full of fruits by his hip. He hadn’t seemed to notice Juno and Vespa’s approach yet, just peeking up between the foliage with the serene expression of someone who loved being in the moment. 

Juno could have stayed there, watching him be in the moment all day.

He felt a push at the small of his back.

“I show you an orchard and all you can see is _him_.” Vespa scoffed. It was a fond scoff, Juno knew somehow.

Juno opened his mouth to apologize, forcing himself to look away and keep looking away from Nureyev.

Vespa held a hand up to stop him. Juno’s jaw clicked shut. “Don’t bother. I’ll go look for Jet.”

Juno watched them walk off, striding confidently across grass that should not be there.

“Juno! You’re here. And you’ve met Miss Vespa! There go two birds with one stone, then.”

Vespa offered him a wave over their shoulder.

He made sure Vespa was out of hearing distance before grabbing what he could of Nureyev (his shirt), “Are they and Jet actually related? Doesn’t that mean they’re…”

“That, Juno,” Nureyev said smugly, “was who we know as Lady Persephone. Though she told me to call her Vespa.”

Juno blinked.

He pulled harder at Nureyev’s shirt as the implication sunk in. “Nureyev, this is _crazy_!”

Nureyev laughed. Like a magnet to metal, Juno’s head turned to catch the way he threw his head back. “Isn’t it? I’ve been on Mars for a year and this is the most trees I’ve seen anywhere on it.”

He hissed. “That’s beside the point! The actual personification of Spring is—" He blinked, then looked up at Nureyev. "Wait. You’ve… _seen_ actual trees before?”

Nureyev smiled at him. “Oh, sure. There were a lot where I came from.”

Juno looked around the backlot at that moment, at the people milling about collecting fruits with wonder and awe in their faces.

He’d been alive for twenty-eight bitter years now and hadn't left Hyperion since. It always felt like childish naïveté: the idea that he was going to move away and see the sights, to not have to basically scavenge for food and ration tickets for a day and be happy.

It was a delusion he used to share with Sasha and Mick and…

Kind of what Nureyev was. Just a passing thought he shouldn’t even entertain.

So no, he hasn’t seen a thick copse of actual trees before. He hasn’t tasted the sweetness of a fruit grown from the actual ground up. He’d lived on rations and alcohol and a whole lot of other substances you can’t really replace water with before, sure, but… Nothing like this.

And to think that Nureyev would… That they could have all this for as long as Vespa _stayed_?

No one in their right mind would come from elsewhere and voluntarily stay in Hyperion City. You were either born there or lucky enough to just be passing by. 

She was never going to stay, and if she left, she was never going to come back.

But he didn’t want to seem like he was trying to look a gift Dunespider in the mandibles, no matter how much it asked him to. 

So, he left Nureyev’s heavy statement hanging in the air between them. He chose not to ask the question Nureyev seemed to be goading out of him.

The projected light from the dome ceiling was never bright and warm, and the air coming in from the dome’s edge was colder than water that had iced over by an open window sill.

Standing next to Nureyev, it was nothing.

“How did all of this even _grow_ here?” he muttered, trying to keep his mind off of it.

Nureyev shrugged, having heard him. “It’s _magic_ , Juno. I try not to question it too much.”

He stared incredulously up at his boyfriend and wondered how the hell he got into this mess. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find words that didn’t hurt before settling with “Have the cops been here?”

Nureyev put the basket down at their feet and picked a few from the pile. “No, why would they be?”

Juno scoffed. “There’s suddenly an orchard in Oldtown that appeared overnight. And people can just walk in from the street and get food without paying or concern for rationing. I don’t know if you know this, but if the mayor hasn’t capitalized on this already, someone else will.”

Nureyev straightened back up, popping one into his mouth. “We have the gods on our side, Juno. Besides, Miss Vespa didn’t isolate this here. Haven’t you checked the news?”

“No, because I literally _just_ got up.”

Nureyev offered one of the fruits to him. “Have something to eat, then.”

Sure. He’ll try anything twice. Even fruits that magically grew from thin air. Juno opened his mouth and let him pop it right in.

It was sweeter than he thought it was going to be, which made sense. Nothing sweet ever naturally grew on Martian soil, not even the cloned stuff they imported from the asteroids a few hours ride away from Hyperion.

Nureyev bent down to give him a peck on the lips. “Sweet,” he remarked, licking at his lips in a way that was definitely not distracting.

Juno pushed him away just to prove it, making Nureyev laugh.

He hummed as he swallowed, raising his free hand to wipe any stray juices off his lips, then pulled at Nureyev’s shirt again. “Can we have this for breakfast?”

“Dear, it’s noon.”

Juno rolled his eyes. “Fine, can _I_ have this for breakfast?”

Nureyev held a hand out to him, which he took without hesitation. “Of course, dear. Come along before Jet thinks I’m playing hooky again.”

* * *

One could see the resemblance between Jet and Vespa, all things considered. One just had to know what resemblances to look for.

They were both silent, observant, and stared just a tad too long for comfort while you spoke. They saw things mortals weren’t allowed to see: the prophetic visions, pasts behind actions, that sort of thing.

(Or at least, Nureyev would assume they could. It was the only way he could sleep at night without wondering how Jet had gotten a hold of his real name.)

When the words ‘goddess of the harvest’ were uttered, one didn’t really imagine Vespa, either.

Sure, she smelled like cut grass and flowers, and the moment she popped up, things started blooming where there’d been nothing before. But there were certain aspects of Spring most people expected a personification to be.

The thing was just that nature was never as nurturing and caring as humanity made it out to be. Nature was merciless as it turned with time, leaving the general population rushing to adjust. Vespa was as silent as spring could be on a planet that wasn’t supposed to have one.

And even that wasn’t entirely true.

Jet decided to give The Ruby a break that evening, letting the volunteers distribute their harvests out front. They were each given bottles of wine that allegedly were from Vespa herself. 

And as bottles of wine stocked up between the four of them, Vespa started getting looser and looser. Her laughter was as gruff as her voice but infectious. Soon enough, she even got Juno smiling and chuckling along to a comment on his tale about some old friends.

“Well, today was quite the welcoming party,” Nureyev said, as they both wound down. “Did you expect a charity upon arriving or is that just a perk of being you?”

Vespa shrugged, nursing her drink. “This is the first time I’ve been up top since… I don’t remember. Got a bit busy with the War going. Can’t say I don’t mind though. Makes a gal feel special.”

“That’s pretty modest,” Juno remarked.

Jet stepped out from the back room, wiping his hands on his work apron.

Nureyev nudged at Juno’s elbow, nodding towards Jet.

Juno grinned. “What, you think it runs in the family, Rans?”

Vespa let out an uproarious laugh at this. “No, _hell_ no. This is learned behavior. Had you met us a few centuries back, we’d be more obnoxious than your average celebrity.”

“You clearly haven’t met Hyperion celebrities,” Juno muttered into his cup.

“You mean the Kanagawas?” Jet asked, pouring himself a cup of wine as he settled down. “No, Vespa’s correct. We were… _worse_ , I think.”

Juno raised his cup to that. “Hard to imagine but I’ll take your word for it.”

“You will have to,” Jet said.

“No, I think you’re right,” Nureyev cut in. “Jet isn’t _modest_ , he’s just polite.”

Juno ooh’ed, teasing. “Big words there, pal. Careful with your paycheck.”

“I would not deduct from Ransom’s pay because of a joke. That’s illegal.” Jet said. “I would simply just cut off the heating once he’s stepped out of the shower.”

Vespa and Juno laughed at that.

Nureyev pouted, moving closer to Juno as he mock-shivered. “I’ll need warming up.”

Juno rolled his eyes and tried to shrug off Nureyev’s attempts at snuggling his shoulder, but Nureyev could see the smile he was trying to stifle.

“So, what brings you to Mars, Vespa?” Juno asked. Nureyev relented and settled back down in his seat. “I don’t think you’ve ever been here before.”

Vespa shrugged. “My wife. And I _have_ been here before. Just not when you were.”

“Wait, so Hyperion has had springs before?”

Vespa nodded.

Nureyev looked smugly at Juno, who was looking increasingly confused.

“Is your wife Martian? Wait. We’ve had springs before?”

“No— What’s with the third degree?” Vespa leaned back in her seat. She threw a look at Jet. “Are they always like that?”

Jet inclined his head. “Ransom, yes. Juno just used to be a detective.”

Juno tensed at that. Nureyev couldn’t help but blink.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I not supposed to say that?” Jet asked.

Juno ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, no. It’s complicated. I was kinda… No, it’s fine. It’s whatever.”

By the sound of his voice, it wasn’t ‘whatever.’ Nureyev couldn’t really judge Juno’s previous occupation, considering his.

And, it fits, in an idealistic sort of way.

Juno Steel, Nureyev learned from what was months of courting now, had a core of righteousness to him that was just as handsome as he was.

Nureyev would come to visit him after work, sometimes, if Juno didn’t come to the pub himself, and Juno would talk about his coworkers and get so worked up about their stories Nureyev would forget he had to do his job.

Not some of his finest moments.

“Hey!” Juno protested… something. Nureyev hadn’t been listening.

Nureyev raised his cup. “Well, welcome to Mars, Miss Vespa. Here’s to a, uh… bountiful six months?”

Juno grudgingly raised his cup, pouting. Jet raised his as well.

“We’ll see.” Vespa drained her drink.

* * *

Having Vespa around felt like a full-time job.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it just meant more time spent at work and less time spent with Juno. Working on the song became easier and easier to do while he tuned out customers at the bar.

Much like in Brahma’s slums, word spread fast in Oldtown. Soon, The Ruby was swarming with customers who wanted to get the chance to thank Jet and Vespa, both of whom weren’t in the pub most nights.

It was nice. Most of them left gift baskets that Jet would probably give away come morning. Nureyev just wished they’d just buy drinks in peace and stopped trying to pick him up.

“Hey.”

Ugh, here was another one.

Nureyev scribbled one last word into his notebook before turning around.

Vespa propped her head up with a hand, looking at him, unimpressed. “You wanna actually pay attention to what you’re doing there, kiddo?”

It felt odd, being called _kiddo_ again. 

Nureyev grabbed the rag hanging from his waist. “And just _what_ is it I’m supposed to be paying attention to, ma’am?”

Vespa shrugged. “Nothing. But a fight could happen in here one of these nights and you’d be too busy daydreaming to break it up.”

Nureyev scoffed, knowing she was joking. “I’m writing a _song_ , not daydreaming. And people are too afraid of Jet to actually start anything in here.”

Vespa grinned and Nureyev finally figured out what she was here for.

He shook his head. “No, I’m not singing it to you, Miss Vespa.”

Vespa must have been somewhat inebriated or just giddy with the high energy in the pub. She tapped on the countertop. “Why not? It’s about _me_.”

“And your wife, yes,” Nureyev said.

“You know, she would _hate_ that you made a song about us,” Vespa said. “We never listen to a lot of music down there, but…”

Because it seemed like she was going to take a while describing just how much her wife hated it, Nureyev took the time to whip his notebook out again.

No one had entered the pub for around forty minutes now, most of them leaving after paying their tabs. Which was good because it was getting tiring, keeping up with the tabs people tended to accumulate on busy nights.

Wednesdays truly were a blessing to work through, sometimes.

“I think it was 2175?” Vespa said with some finality. “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“That’s great, Miss Vespa,” Nureyev said amiably.

“C’mon, just a _little_ sample?” Vespa pleaded.

Nureyev chuckled. “And where is Jet?”

Vespa groaned. “Sending the HCPD into a wild goose chase got old half a month ago. What do you people do here for _fun_?”

“Is that why you’re asking me to sing you my song? Because you’re bored?” Nureyev deadpanned.

Before Nureyev could tune out whatever her answer was going to be again, Juno came into the pub, looking a little more dressed up than usual.

He shrugged his coat off, keeping his scarf on. He was wearing a flowy knee-length dress that hugged and hung in all the right places, ditching his usual boots and ripped stockings for sandals.

It was all the better that Nureyev was already leaning against the bar because he swore he got a bit weak in the knees there.

“Wow, you’re _really_ into each other,” Vespa said, snapping him out of his trance.

Nureyev felt his face heat up. “Uh.”

Vespa waved a hand to cut him off. “Whatever. It’s actually nice to see that kinda thing every now and then.”

“Hey, guys. What kinda thing?” Juno asked as he bound up, keeping his coat in his arms. There was a bag hanging by the crook of one of his arms, one that Nureyev had probably been too distracted to notice.

He smiled at Nureyev and _gods help him_ , he was wearing this lip stain that was driving Nureyev up the wall.

“True love,” Vespa said airily, poking Juno around the waist. Nureyev tried very hard not to react when he saw her finger dip a little where he knew the dress’s drapes ended and Juno’s body began.

Nureyev laughed nervously, trying to snap out of it. “ _Well_ , Miss Vespa, I think you should go now.”

Vespa stood up from her seat. “Actually, no, I think _you_ two should go.”

Nureyev blinked.

“What?” Juno and Nureyev said.

Vespa scoffed. “I handle half of the underworld, I’m pretty sure I can manage running a bar. It’s almost closing time anyway. Go on, kids, scram.”

“Fine.” Nureyev threw his hands up, then untied his work apron so she could take it. 

As she was trying to pull the apron away from him, he gripped it until she looked at him. “But _please_ tell Jet you took over for me by force, not because I asked you to?”

Vespa pulled it from his grip easily. “No promises.”

Nureyev walked out from behind the counter, rolling his eyes. He made sure to grab his guitar on his way out of the employee area.

Once he was out and in Juno’s space, Juno got up on his toes to kiss his chin, which brought his spirits up a bit.

Nureyev leaned down to give him a peck on the cheek. “Looking good this evening, Mister Steel. Any special occasions?”

Juno shook his head, laughing as he stepped away. “You’ll spoil your surprise. C’mon, follow me.”

He took Juno’s hand as they left The Ruby. It was almost reflex at this point, locking their fingers together.

“Use protection!” Vespa shouted after them as they left.

Juno glared over their shoulders but Nureyev didn’t let him wriggle free to get the final word in. 

“Did you say surprise?” Nureyev cut in. “Is it my birthday?”

Juno ignored him, which, alright.

Most nights, when either Phobos or Deimos was clear even through the dome’s light, they’d walk around the new forest on the outskirts of Oldtown until they got tired. They’d walk hand in hand, like just then, telling strange and funny anecdotes about the cleaner, friendlier parts of their pasts.

The gritty parts were saved for if Juno wasn’t too tired and invited him back to the hotel he stayed in.

Mostly they’d lay down to talk until they fell asleep, sometimes just kissing till they got tired. Where Juno would tell him about his mother and brother. Where Nureyev would tell him about his childhood and the father he’d... _left_ on Brahma.

He swung their hands between them as the wind picked up behind them.

Those darker parts were so precious to him, to know what shaped the lady he was holding hands with, to finally stop being on the outside looking in.

It told him that Juno Steel was not only breathtaking but strong as well. That he was quick-witted and full of determination and cared too deeply about the people he cared about, to a fault even.

Nureyev couldn’t really help but applaud his tastes from day one. He felt like the luckiest man in the galaxy, with his fingers locked with Juno’s.

“You ever meet someone who thinks really loud?” Juno asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hm?”

Juno turned to look at him and—

He really _was_ breathtaking. He was lit against the backlights of the buildings beside the trees, dress skirt billowing in the breeze.

“Are you even listening, babe?”

“Mm-hm.”

Juno grinned. “Yeah? What’d I say?”

Nureyev pretended to ponder on it as they walked. He hummed, really hamming it up. Juno pulled him towards the tree line, then walked ahead so that they had enough light to see the ground between them.

Nureyev said, “Well, your mouth moved so I assume you said _something_. But dear, you’re so gorgeous tonight and all I can think about is which tree we can hide behind so that I can have you all by myself.”

Juno rolled his eyes. “You’re so stupid.”

Nureyev nodded.

“I was _saying_ that you were thinking too loud and I wanted to know why.”

“I _just_ told you, dearest. I could not have been more clear about it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway. We’re here.”

Juno pulled away from him as he looked around.

‘Here’ was a little clearing just a few feet away from the edge of the dome and far enough away from the buildings that one wouldn’t be able to hear the passing of hover-vehicles overhead or the groan of the exhaust of the dome’s oxygen supply. Below their feet was a carpet of grass and flowers Nureyev could barely make out in the dark but could hear clearly as the wind passed through it.

He looked up, up, up, straining his neck like a plant to sunlight, saw a gap between the rocky cliffs of the Valles Marineris and the dome lights’ edge. From there, it was the darkness of the sky and stars of distant planets he’d been to and hadn’t been to.

Some nights he dreamt of taking Juno elsewhere out there, little indulgent ideas he’d get when he was tired and hoping for a thing that was less implausible than lifting Mars’ sterility.

Barely an hour and a half and they could be off on a planet-hopping adventure, side by side, hand in hand, just as they’d walked the streets of Oldtown all the nights before.

But Juno wanted the seasons. Juno wanted to stay, to take root on healthier soil, and live prosperously for as long as he could.

It wasn’t a life Nureyev thought he’d ever get accustomed to.

But he could try.

Hell, he’d already been here long enough. A year and a few months counting, at least. All so that he could have a change of pace. Jet’s favor had been a boon. No thief could be found beside the god of thievery himself.

He was safe on Mars, in Oldtown, with Juno at his side. He ought to just stay there.

(Mag would have killed him if he hadn't beat him to the chase.)

Nureyev looked down to see Juno sitting on a blanket on the grass, sandals removed and off to the side, toes wiggling in the slightly chilly air. Beside him was his comms, emitting a warm light that softened the edges of the shadows around them.

Nureyev smiled, toeing his shoes off before walking around the clearing. He curled his toes every now and then, delighting in the feeling of being barefoot on the grass. He grabbed his guitar, still strapped on his back, and spun it around to his front.

Juno smiled up at him, pulling his knees to his chest as he leaned back against the trunk of the tree.

Nureyev plucked out a little tune as he came closer and knelt on the blanket. “ _Lover, tell me if you can_ ,” he sang. “ _Who’s gonna buy the wedding band? Times being what they are..._ ”

Juno raised a brow at him. “What did I say about proposals?”

Nureyev huffed as he let go of his guitar to sit down properly. “I didn’t ask.”

“You and your loopholes,” Juno muttered, shifting to lean forward and kiss him.

Nureyev hummed, pushing the guitar aside again to hold Juno’s face between his hands. They swayed to the tuneless song of their lips against each other.

As a man away from his home, the act of kissing Juno felt like its own homecoming. Every which way he pulled away made him feel more homesick somehow. When Juno ran a rough palm against the back of his hand and gripped his wrist to pull him closer, he smiled.

He was welcomed.

“Is this what you had in store, dear?” he whispered as Juno paused for breath. Nureyev couldn’t look away from him, the slight shimmer of his spit-slick lips and the way his lashes fell against his cheeks. “Did you bring me here so I could have you all to myself?”

Nureyev brought their foreheads together.

Juno hummed, closing his eyes. He whispered. “Just wanted to spend time with you. Would you want to?”

Nureyev leaned away to take his guitar off his back. He laid it down next to their blanket before leaning back into Juno’s space. “Oh, _Juno._ The moment I saw you walk into The Ruby, I’ve _ached_ to.”

Juno’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked up at Nureyev, expectant, shoulders tense as Nureyev splayed a hand against his chest and pushed, pushed, pushed him flat against the blanket.

Nureyev laid beside him, head propped up as he traced lines from Juno’s chest down to his abdomen, past and down to his thighs.

It was a gambit to get him to relax, to caress the tension away from his body. Nureyev couldn’t dare look away, let his eyes roam just as freely as his hand.

Juno was breathing heavily when Nureyev finally stopped, nudging Juno’s legs apart as he got up to pin Juno down on the blanket.

“Would you?” Nureyev muttered.

Juno blinked slowly, brow furrowing to follow what Nureyev was referring to. “Huh?” His voice was rough, low, and in his chest.

Nureyev leaned down to give him a slow kiss by his peeking collarbone.

Juno sighed.

“Would you want me to have you all to myself?”

He dropped another kiss, higher this time. Juno leaned back to give access to his neck, a shaky breath rattling through his frame. Nureyev felt it bump against his chest and drop into his gut.

Another kiss, open-mouthed, against the crook of Juno’s neck.

And another. Nureyev opened his mouth to trace a hint of teeth against the skin of him, breathing in through his mouth for a hint of a taste.

Juno let out a sound that Nureyev would save the world just to hear again.

“Nureyev…”

“Yes or no, Juno.”

“Yes.”

And with that, finally, Nureyev felt at home.

And it was…

Magical.

The breeze ebbed and flowed with the volume of Juno’s cries and sighs.

The grass and the flowers, and the trees whispered distant cheers.

The cold was forgotten, gone.

There was nothing but warmth between them.

There was nothing but the two of them.

And when they were spent and panting next to each other on the blanket, in that clearing, the dome’s lights were starting to project morning.

Nureyev curled around Juno’s form, wiping away the sweat and hair on his lady’s face. He dropped a kiss on his damp shoulder, and another, further up until Juno stirred as he reached stubble.

“You’re beautiful,” Nureyev whispered. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on, Juno Steel.”

Juno shifted, turning to face him. Nureyev could look at him forever and for longer.

“Nureyev.”

“Hm?”

Juno searched his eyes for something, his brows furrowed with a concern Nureyev wanted to smooth out, to solve every problem that may come their way. Nureyev wanted to marry him and promise him the better future they could attain.

“Stay with me?”

“Here? Of course.”

Juno shook his head, a bit imperceptible with the way they were laying down. “I mean…” Juno glanced away.

Nureyev reached between them, taking Juno’s hand in his. “What is it?”

Juno looked back, a bit bashful now. “I… You’re not from here, Nureyev. You could just leave. You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I won’t leave you,” Nureyev said.

Juno retorted, “How long is that going to last?”

“Forever,” he answered, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Even if you can’t fix this?”

“You mean the seasons? If I can’t fix it, even though I _will,_ ” Nureyev started. Juno snorted. His heart delighted at bringing a smile on Juno’s face. “I’ll stay with you.”

Juno’s brow furrowed a little more prominently then, more bemused than concerned now. “Why?”

Nureyev brought his free hand up to smooth it out, shifting even closer, bare chest to dress, to lay a kiss there as if to keep it away.

He pulled away, running his fingers through Juno’s hair. “This may sound ridiculous to you, Juno, but I might just be in love with you.”

Juno looked up at him, eyes once more searching.

Then, the clouds parted behind them, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled, bashful and small, but _so_ full.

“I am too, Nureyev.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH they fucked in the forest, get with it.
> 
> so! little fun facts section:
> 
> \- hermes is never known as a romance-commitment type of god so he always gets this aromantic vibe but that could just be me. he's married and he's had multiple "lovers", but theres never any myths about him and romance specifically. apart from creating greece's one intersex symbol hermaphroditus (who was... a product of sexual assault so, yikes). other than that, i just think that the aromantic vibe fits jet perfectly as our fav ace and aro pilot here.
> 
> \- figs are symbolic of a lot of things. most abrahamic religions treat it as The fruit of knowledge of good and evil. it's got a very yonic energy to it from babylonian myths, and its tree's growth usually signifies fertile soil. if you've read madeline miller's the song of achilles, figs also play a big part there. ( i agonized over this a lot, listen, i avoided the apple simply to avoid allusions to christianity but it's so funny that i ended up settling on the actual biblical fruit of knowledge of good and evil. i've never had a fig before though so bully me all you want if i got something wrong )


	3. ain't no difference anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait, you’re _leaving?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for mentions of death, dying, and death wishes.

In the olden days, the only way to Hades that didn’t involve dying was to venture far enough southwest.

Heroes and men trekked to eventually stand at the mouth of a cavern at the edge of the mainland, Taenarum. They would then start hiking down into the depths of the Earth.

Most men didn’t return.

Some, those gifted or lucky enough to be related to a divine being or both, came to Hades and resurfaced relatively unscathed.

With a whole galaxy of different countries, continents, and planets to consider, cardinal directions became largely subjective and confusing. Where was due west when you were in outer space?

That was a trick question, of course.

Hades’ location was relative to which planet one was on. Mars’ Hades, for example, happened to be west of Valles Marineris, at the foot of Elysium Mons. 

And it was at the base of Elysium Mons, where an old Hyperion subway had collapsed long before this song began, that _it_ surfaced from.

His comms beeped.

Jet didn’t look to see who it was before answering. He could hear, see, and feel who it was from where he stood. No doubt the others did as well.

“ _Get her ready. I’ll see you soon._ ” 

_Beep_.

Jet took a deep breath.

So much for Spring.

* * *

Juno nearly jumped out of his skin when Vespa let out a growl.

It was _just_ him and Vespa. 

Juno had decided that helping at The Ruby was the best way to thank Jet for letting him move in with Nureyev. They’d been working silently together for the better part of a few hours, disinfecting countertops and mopping the floorboards. 

Juno’s mind had begun drifting towards how warm the bed must have been with Nureyev in it when Vespa broke the silence.

When no context or subsequent grumbling followed the sudden noise, Juno cleared his throat.

“You, uh… You okay there, Vespa?”

Vespa pulled at her work apron with some force, only now grumbling under her breath. She aimed her glare at Juno. “Go call Jet.”

“There’s no need.”

Jet was at the employees’ entrance behind Juno, carrying a deep blue suitcase in one hand. He looked as he always did, tired, dressed in his earthy tones to fit the green in- and exterior of The Ruby. This time, there was a sadness to him. 

If asked, Juno wouldn’t be able to tell you how he knew. There was just something about the way he gazed at Vespa that made him feel like Jet knew something bad was about to happen. He didn’t know how to feel about that if he were being honest.

“What’s going on?” Juno asked, leaning against the mop.

“You _knew_?” Vespa seethed at Jet, throwing her apron down on the table before her.

Jet shook his head, extending the suitcase towards her. “I’d just felt it when she called. I had thought we had a few more months but...”

Vespa sighed, striding across the pub to grab the suitcase. “Of course. _Of course_. She always did like a dramatic entrance.”

“I do not remember her like that, but I trust your judgment.”

Juno felt annoyance bubble up in him. “Hey, c’mon. Wha— _Who?_ ”

Vespa turned to look at him again.

She wasn’t glaring anymore, at least. Her eyes flitted around his face, searching for something in Juno’s confusion and finding it so painful, she had to squeeze her eyes shut. The dread in him at seeing Jet turned into lead and dropped straight down his gut.

As if to herself, she said, “This is gonna be a long ride home.”

_Home?_

A door slid open and shut somewhere in the pub.

“Did anyone else hear the— Oh, have I interrupted something?”

Nureyev paused right behind Jet at the employee entrance, glancing between Juno and Jet’s back.

“No,” Vespa said blankly. “You’re just on time. You three mind escorting me to my ride?”

Then, like the faulty lamp on Nureyev’s table, something clicked.

Juno dropped the mop, hot on Vespa’s heels as she strode for the door. “Wait, you’re _leaving_? But it’s only been—”

Vespa whirled around to look at him again.

For a moment, he felt the ground beneath him shake. Juno took it for what it was: an abrupt reminder that, despite Vespa’s frank and brash friendship, he was still speaking to a goddess.

How could he have forgotten for even a moment?

She said, “Staying for six months wasn’t a guarantee. Hasn’t been for a long time. I don’t get a choice, you don’t either. Now, c’mon.”

“But _why_?”

The door to the pub slid open and Vespa stepped out without answering.

Juno felt the fight flood out of him. The cold seeped in from the ground and burrow in his joints.

Jet walked around him, throwing an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

Juno felt a hand in his and locked their fingers together. “Juno…”

Juno nodded to himself before looking up at Nureyev. “It was always going to be like this, huh?”

Nureyev squeezed his hand. “I _will_ fix it. You have to trust me.”

Juno did. The galaxy just didn’t play favorites, no matter how deserving or good people were. Nureyev may have been gifted, but that was one thing the universe already gave him. Everything else had to be taken away.

Nureyev untied his work apron for him and led him out of The Ruby.

Their trek to wherever Vespa was taking them was deathly silent. 

They walked through a part of Oldtown that was largely abandoned, with factories for ammunition that had since been outdated and out of production. Juno pushed his memories way deep so he wouldn’t have to think about… how things used to be and what had happened. That wasn’t important at the moment.

Instead, he focused on everything else about the landscape. 

A few people were waving as they passed. Juno recognized a few of them from events at The Ruby some previous nights. They took care of the trees and shrubs around the edges of the area, collecting, snacking, chatting with each other. 

Vespa’s influence was here. 

Of course, it was. Plants were resilient things, growing in spite of their situation on poisoned or infertile soil. 

Juno just wished they grew on _dead_ soil. All that green would shrivel up and get buried in red sand the moment Vespa left. 

“Miss Vespa, what is living with your wife like?” Nureyev asked, breaking the grim silence of their group.

Juno walked a little closer to him as Vespa turned to look at them.

“Boring,” Vespa intoned, seeming wary of the sudden question. “Buddy mostly just keeps the spirits busy if they’re not allowed to pass on. Gives ‘em something to work on instead of wandering around doing nothing. I used to manage some of it but it’s not any interesting work. Why, Jet fire you or something? ‘Cause if you’re looking for a new job–”

“I did not fire him,” Jet cut in.

Vespa shrugged. “Alright, stingy. Not like we’re understaffed anyway, just overwhelmed. Haven’t seen this much coming our way since… Say, when did that virus go around with all the wildfires and wars...?”

Jet sighed. “2020.”

“Right. Hell of a decade, that one.”

Nureyev said, “Well. I’d expect so, with the War going. There must be quite a surge in numbers.” It was a solid effort to divert the gods from reminiscing about ancient Earth pandemics, in Juno’s opinion.

“There is.” Vespa turned back around. There was a bit of steel in her tone just then. “It’s not _our_ fault though. No one’s even siding with anyone in this conflict and somehow we still get more every day.”

“What kind of work do you have them do?” Juno asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Busywork.” She shrugged. “Building stuff. It’s not all bad, all things considered. If they’ve properly atoned or whatever, we give them what they need. I think Buddy used the term… care facilities or something? I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”

Juno held his tongue, but that was more than what the rest of the galaxy was giving the living. Had Vespa told him that death was going to give him that much, he would have–

“Down there,” Vespa said.

Jet walked ahead to lift the tape from what seemed to be the entrance leading down to the old subway system. 

Juno was about to protest before remembering who he was talking to.

“It is safe down here, Juno,” Jet reassured in his usual flat delivery. “No need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Juno retorted, mostly out of reflex.

Nureyev chuckled. “Of course.”

Vespa ducked through, unbothered.

As they followed her, it was a curious thing, something no one would notice if they were lost in thought.

It didn’t seem to be getting darker the deeper they went.

Of course, this was notable because all the lights were off. 

The old subway system’s power was redirected centuries before Juno was even born. If he remembered correctly from history class, it was because of the War. A bombing in one of the tunnels led to radiation seeping in faster than it could corrode the metals used.

Hyperion City Council Members came forward saying that the breach had been sealed off before the radiation could start seeping in through the vents, of course. If you ignored the rabbits in the sewers or the fact that nothing could grow on the soil above it even with Spring herself on Mars, nothing was wrong with Oldtown.

(Jet said it was safe, but if he expected Juno not to be scared, he had another thing coming.)

The reason for the oddities became clear before they even reached the end of the staircase.

What seemed to be hoverlimo idled at the bottom, headlights pointed towards the mouth of the entrance. At least, Juno _thought_ it was a hoverlimo. It was kinda shaped like one.

Juno couldn’t make out the outline of it even from the ground up. It looked like there was a black hole in the shape of a long vehicle, emitting two points of light up at them. So.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Juno could make out gold and silver door handles that looked to be hovering in the void. The passenger door clicked open at their approach. To avoid a headache, Juno tried not to think about what it did to the shape of the hoverlimo as a whole. Instead, he took note of who got out.

She was stunning, was the first thing Juno thought. Like Jet and Vespa and Nureyev were stunning. They held the same agelessness to them that made Juno feel a bit uncomfortable to be in their presence. 

Lines that curved and angled made up the person that stood before them, high heels, a lined pencil skirt, a crisp dress blouse, striped vest, and matching striped suit jacket that doubled as a cape. Vespa’s wife had a face that was both soft and hardened, with high cheekbones and a heart-shaped face framed in half by a cloud of red hair.

Her sharp eye laid solely on Vespa, relief on her features.

Vespa did love her, was the second thing he thought, as Vespa practically trotted up to her and melted into her open arms.

“You’re early,” Vespa grumbled, sullen as she had been at the pub.

Buddy hugged her tight and said, “I missed you.”

“You can’t use that excuse every time, Bud.”

“I know, darling. I’ll explain on the way back.”

Juno couldn’t help but think to when they’d sat down and introduced themselves to each other months ago. How Vespa said that her wife was the reason she was on Mars, to begin with.

Was that just a fluke? Or was _this_ act the lie?

He moved closer to Nureyev.

Would Nureyev end up like that? Convincingly lying to his face about not being tired of him?

Here he was, some Martian lady with barely anything to offer, asking a guy like him to stay. To delude himself into believing that life on Hyperion was bearable as long as he had Juno by his side.

Why _wouldn’t_ Nureyev leave? Vespa was.

Why did he think it was ever going to last longer than it had to?

Vespa stepped away from Buddy, right as that thought came to mind. She turned. 

At that moment, both of them looked at him, expressions imperceptible. 

Juno suppressed a shudder.

Nureyev squeezed his hand.

Juno didn’t look at him.

“Well, I’m sorry to break your little soirée with these nice people, darling,” Buddy said, mostly to Vespa. “But we really must get home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vespa responded, throwing her suitcase into the backseat. She stepped around Buddy and threw a hand up to wave at them.

“Safe travels,” Nureyev said.

“Come back soon,” Juno followed weakly.

Buddy threw him another stony glance before pushing Vespa into the car and climbing in after her. 

The door clicked shut behind them.

As the hoverlimo drove away, silent as the wind, Juno couldn’t help but feel like that last look from Buddy seeped all the warmth out of him.

“Let’s go home,” Nureyev said eventually.

Once they were out of the subway, Nureyev turned to Jet.

“So, she can just do that? Was that allowed?”

Jet glanced at them but did not answer. That silence might as well have been one. The gods were the gods. What their actions and impulses meant to mortals didn’t matter. 

Nureyev shook his head. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“Well,” Juno said, pulling at his hand to catch his attention. “Unless it gets fixed, it’s not gonna matter, is it?”

Juno should have seen that determination sliding into place behind Nureyev’s eyes as something dreadful. He was so tired. Of dreaming, of seeing how the world could be compared to what it was.

A breeze blew past them, chilling him to the bone. Nureyev noticed and huddled closer, throwing an arm around him.

In one simple action, Juno realized that he _had_ to see it that way. Not because Nureyev wasn’t going to leave, but because Nureyev was _still_ here, _still_ with him. 

Sarah Steel did not raise a quitter, his brother used to say.

The tense silence on the way back was just as excruciating, as the way over. Nureyev had nothing else to say. Neither did Juno. His thoughts raced past too fast for his mind to catch up.

They had to ration and preserve whatever was left from the harvests. 

They had to make sure everyone still had enough, that no one would take too much. 

They had to check if the heating was going to be functional for the rest of the season. 

They had to keep on alert in case the storms came in later or earlier than expected.

Juno should have tried to push those thoughts from his brain and out of his mouth, should have tried rallying Nureyev to help them manage. 

He would have if he weren’t just a little dismayed by the thought of going back to the way things were.

The door lock beeped behind him as Nureyev came in behind him. Juno shrugged off his coat and handed it to him before toeing off his boots and making his way to the living room. 

Juno plopped down on the couch, looking around. There were stray pieces of paper, some folded, some just scattered on the table. A bouquet in a bottle sat in the middle of it all.

He could see into the kitchen, barely lit with the blinds down. The bedroom door stayed open, the covers and blankets in a heap from when Nureyev must have gotten up.

This was their apartment now. They’d met barely a few months ago and he was already living with Nureyev. 

Things were moving so fast, he could barely think. 

What the hell was he doing with his life? Why did he think this was a good idea?

“Juno.”

“Yeah?”

Nureyev knelt between his legs, face blank but eyes full of that same dogged determination and confidence that lured Juno in.

Meeting him felt like it happened both ages ago and only yesterday. He still had that paper flower tucked away in his coat, something Nureyev wouldn’t touch without his permission.

_Come home with me._

And Juno, relatively speaking, did.

_Now what?_

Hadn’t he told Nureyev he had until the sandstorms got here to convince Juno to marry him? To finish that song he was writing to bring Mars’ life back?

Nureyev reached for one of his hands, bringing it to his lips in a reverential action that made Juno feel just a little less numb. Part of his brain remained unconvinced, felt a little like he was being lied to in some intrinsic way he couldn’t explain.

If Nureyev proposed right then and there, could Juno bring himself to say yes?

Softly, Nureyev said, “I’m going to finish that song. I have an idea.”

Well, better indulge him before the inevitable came. “What.”

“Did you notice how Buddy and Vespa were before they left?”

Ashamed as he was to admit it, the way that Nureyev was asking like a gossip was kinda working on him. “Like they forgot about us being there or the constant staring at me?” He deadpanned.

Nureyev shook his head, kneeling upright, essentially pinning Juno to the couch. “Do you remember when she told us what her reason was for coming to Mars?”

“Because of Buddy?”

“Exactly that! Think about it.” Nureyev pushed himself up to sit beside Juno, knees to his thigh. “There’s trouble in paradise.”

Juno snorted, feeling his mood lighten up a bit. Was that what Nureyev was doing?

Nureyev grabbed a notebook from one of his pockets and a pen from another. He scribbled something down on a back page and kept talking. “No, see, it makes sense. What effects would a falling out between gods cause? Fluctuating seasons, random seismic activity, more death on top of the ones caused by the War. That’s why the seasons are dead on Mars!”

Juno supposed it made some sort of sense. Except, “She also said she got busy because of the War and that she’s been here before. Mars has been dead since _before_ the colonies were even a thought in people’s heads back on Earth.”

“Did the people back on Earth have photos of Mars before the colonies were even a thought in their heads? Does Hyperion City have the weird need to rewrite history so it looks like it’s doing the right thing at the moment?”

Juno rolled his eyes. It was more reflex than reason. _Of course_ _,_ people on Earth didn’t have photos of Mars and _of course,_ Hyperion had revisionism in spades. But that didn’t mean he was going to hang by Nureyev’s coattails on this dumb theory about a lovers’ spat.

“Juno, it’s magic,” Nureyev said, twiddling his fingers with a wave of a hand. “Think about it. The climate crises everywhere? It just makes sense.”

“You’re a conspiracist,” Juno retorted, sinking into the cushions. “That doesn’t prove that there’s ‘trouble in paradise.’”

Nureyev nudged him with a foot. “Hey, remember when you called me crazy the first time for thinking I was going to fix the seasons?”

“Yes.”

“Then I sang and a flower-”

“ _Oh_ my god, Nureyev, _yes_!” Juno groaned. “But that still doesn’t prove it!”

Nureyev leaned into his space, face barely an inch from Juno’s.

It took some trying not to kiss him.

“Just believe in me when I tell you I’m going to try everything just to fix this. Please?”

“I do,” Juno said, without a moment’s hesitation. _I just don’t think the galaxy does and it’s unfair of me to make you work for a dream that’s never going to come true._

Nureyev leaned in. Juno closed his eyes.

Kissing him was never going to feel tiring. He just hoped Nureyev could say the same.

“Thank you, Juno,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so short, im sorry, y'all. it's technically two songs in this chapter if you consider it in relation to the musical.
> 
> so, fun facts?  
> \- i almost used the words 'anish kapoor black' in this because of the hoverlimo. if y'all don't know what that is, bless your heart. but also it's this... darker than black color that some rich guy patented. look it up.  
> \- my inspiration for the underworld in this fic was due in part of a research rabbit hole into what the greeks thought of as the underworld and how the system worked down there according to some bloke named Plato in his book called the Republic something something. Look it up.


	4. to hell with the rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet took another sip before saying, “You haven’t been sleeping for a few days now.”
> 
> “Sure, what about it?”
> 
> “This is because of Vespa leaving two weeks ago.”
> 
> Juno huffed. “No, it’s not.”
> 
> “I am the god of lies, Juno,” he said. “If you’re lying more to yourself than to me, I’d rather you don’t tell me. But if you’re mourning the loss of my sister, she _will_ come back.”
> 
> “Alright, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: implied and mentioned suicidal ideation [it's juno pov so, sorry ): ]. there's also a nervous breakdown
> 
> you can turn off the creator's style/work skin for this if you can't read cursive very well, it's optional.

Everything, everywhere, was in a constant state of motion. Humanity, gods, and concepts inconceivable to both. It was all as fluid and ineffable and elusive as the Fates. 

Jet stopped questioning the cycles of nature the fifth time this song repeated.

The kettle wailed just as the last customer was escorted out the door. He grabbed two mugs from the cupboards and prepared their tea.

Juno was just about finished setting the final chair onto the tables when he walked out the bar.

“Juno.”

He turned, eyes glassy and unfocused.

Jet gestured to the counter stools. “Sit down.” He put down the tray and poured them both a mug each, pushing the bottle of honey towards Juno as he approached.

“Uh…” Juno sat down beside Jet, looking apprehensive at the sight before him. “Not really a tea type of lady, Jet.”

Jet took a sip of his tea.

He couldn’t stop this cycle but he knew what path Juno was taking. He could at least try to redirect it somewhere less heartbreaking. If not for Nureyev, then at least just for himself.

Juno took the bottle of honey and sighed as he poured a reasonable amount into his tea. “Is this finally gonna be shovel talk?”

“No,” Jet said.

Silence took over as Juno’s confusion built up.

Jet took another sip before saying, “You haven’t been sleeping for a few days now.”

It wasn’t a question. Juno would deny anything unless confronted directly and Jet liked that about him. He was allowed to be frank around Juno.

“Sure, what about it?”

“This is because of Vespa leaving two weeks ago.”

Juno huffed. “No, it’s not.”

“I am the god of lies, Juno,” he said. “If you’re lying more to yourself than to me, I’d rather you don’t tell me. But if you’re mourning the loss of my sister, she _will_ come back.”

“Alright, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

Jet nodded.

They took a moment to nurse their drinks. Juno glared down at his cup of tea like he swallowed something sour.

“Can I go now? I kinda wanna lie down, y’know, so I’d be in ship-shape for work tonight.”

Jet shook his head. “I will not allow you to work unless you’re properly rested.”

Juno scoffed. “Unbelievable. What are you, my dad?”

“I don’t wish to be, but if you need a father to tell you to go to sleep, Juno, I can be forced to be.”

Juno raised his mug up to his lips and hissed and fumbled when the heat burned him. He was careful not to spit or spill any on himself, thankfully. 

Juno glared up at him, flustered. “Don’t need one, thanks. And just why do _you_ care? We have to pay you rent somehow.”

Jet set his mug down and leaned on his elbows to look at Juno.

He was so young. Certainly not the youngest Jet’s met before but young nonetheless.

Jet resisted saying that, knowing Juno wouldn’t take to being called juvenile. He hated that Juno would have to end up dead by the end of the year.

“You don’t,” he said. “I will tell you when you can work again if you’re so eager to feel useful.”

Juno sighed, shaking his head. “This is unfair,” he muttered, disbelief in his tone.

Jet resisted rolling his eyes, picking his mug back up. “So is taking Ransom’s shifts when he should also be helping us down here. You know better than he does that customers swarm these establishments during sandstorm season.”

Juno said, “He’s working—”

Jet held a hand up. “On his song, yes. I know. I can hear. Saying I’m being unfair for making you rest when there is another serviceable person on staff who can help, even though I don’t need them, just doesn’t hold water.”

They dipped into momentary silence, each just sipping at his own mug of tea. Jet knew Juno hated tea, no matter how much honey he put into it, but Jet appreciated the act he was putting up.

He put his mug down and said, “I own The Ruby, Juno. I do not need you to pay rent so you can stay. You just can.”

Juno’s brow furrowed. “Then why are we—”

“You both have been raised to feel indebted when someone provides for you. I do not fault you for that. Ransom only started working because I wasn’t charging him anything, and so did you. But you are in my home. And I do not need your credits.” Jet lifted his hand and summoned a drachma, old silver and gold, flipped it around each knuckle.

Juno snorted, muttering a small, “Showoff,” under his breath as he took gentle sips of his tea. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I’m telling you now. I’m sure you would have ignored me then as well, though you won’t tell me the reason. Rest assured, every single cred you’ve paid me has gone back to your account when you weren’t looking.”

Juno snorted.

Jet palmed the coin and put it away. “So.”

“So?”

“You are not working unless you’ve bathed, slept, and eaten properly.”

Juno groaned. “ _Fine_.”

“I can’t force you to not look for something else to do.”

“I won’t,” he lied.

Jet tried not to feel the dread in his chest at the sound of it in Juno’s voice. He ignored the sound of the loom of the Fates scratching in the back of his mind. 

Instead, he smiled. “Thank you. That’s all I can ask of you.”

“Sure,” Juno grumbled. He pushed to stand, hesitating a bit at the counter. He swayed back and forth on his feet, face contemplative.

Jet waited for him to speak up.

Juno glanced to and from his face. “Uh. Thanks, I guess.”

“What for?”

“For worrying about me. It’s nice. You’re a good friend, Jet.”

Jet took a deep breath and nodded numbly. “You as well.”

Juno tapped the countertop before leaving. Jet stared after him as he disappeared out the back.

* * *

The one thing he hated more than coming back to see Nureyev passed out on the couch was knowing what a spring breeze smelled like.

Juno stood over him, trying to shove down the ghosts of frustration and numbness in him.

Alright, those were two completely separate things but hear him out.

See, he loved Nureyev. Loved his voice, the way it cracked when he’d just woken up. He loved the scratch of his stubble against Juno’s neck every morning and, yeah, even his stupid cold feet in the huddle of their blankets.

But now that the weather was turning, Juno couldn’t help but feel the tiniest amount of contempt for him.

Things had changed with him around. 

Juno had seen things for the better, felt real grass beneath his feet, known the caress of a warm breeze, tasted fruits he’d never even known existed. With these changes came the inevitability that it was all going to go to shit eventually.

And they had. And there was a chance it was never going to come back for as long as the War went on.

He crouched down and picked up a few leaves Nureyev had probably blown off the table with his infernal snoring. He swept the rest of them into his palm to put in the garbage bin.

As he swept some off from Nureyev’s notebook, with its scribbles and doodles and annotations in a language Juno would probably fuck up reading out loud, he caught a line. He hadn’t meant to, of course. It was just the part of Nureyev’s handwriting that seemed legible and visible, even in the low light of their apartment, this early in the morning. 

... _with doubt that she’ll never come, dread that she’ll never come, doubt that her lover will ever come back._

Juno got to his knees to keep from straining. He squinted down at the lyrics. 

These didn’t look like the ones he’d seen Nureyev writing the other night. How many versions had he written already? 

Juno glanced at him, snoring, mouth ajar on their couch.

When will he ever actually finish it at this point?

Outside, the wind howled against the window, bringing no new sand but lifting the dust from the floor below. 

_I’ll give you till the sandstorms come in_ , he’d said.

Juno stood to throw the leaves in the bin.

Nureyev snorted loudly, then stopped. Juno could hear him shifting as he padded around the kitchen to wash his hands.

“Juno,” Nureyev sleepily called out. “Is it closing time?”

“Was,” Juno answered, turning around to wipe the water off on his pants.

Nureyev blinked blearily up at him. “How long was I out?”

Juno shrugged. “I found you drooling on the couch. Wasn’t like I could tell by how much was in your mouth than out.”

Nureyev wiped at his face as subtly as he could. “I did _not_ drool.” When Juno didn’t respond, he set to squinting down at his work. Juno knew what distaste looked like on Nureyev’s face. 

He wasn’t going to keep those lyrics either, then.

Juno turned around to root around for the coffee he’d been about to brew. “So,” he said from over his shoulder. “How’s writing going?”

“You want to hear?”

“Sure, just gimme maybe a few hours to rest so I won’t immediately fall asleep on you,” Juno quipped.

Nureyev cooed mockingly. “Jet driving you up the wall?”

For a moment, Juno considered telling him about essentially being laid off.

On the one hand, Jet wasn’t charging for rent, so it didn’t really matter. Juno at least had less to worry about when it came to their bills. He wasn’t sure how Nureyev would take it, but Jet could have worn him down eventually.

On the other hand, they’d just lost Juno’s only source of additional ration tickets. 

After long talks and walks around Oldtown, he found that, due to his largely questionable and implicitly dark past, Nureyev wasn’t a registered citizen. Anywhere. So he wasn’t going to get any of the weekly rations without resorting to stealing it or mooching off of Juno’s. 

And it wasn’t that Nureyev couldn’t fend for himself. He’d been here for a year before Juno met him, he had to have made ends meet somehow. But what else was Juno going to do with that knowledge? 

The kettle began to wail.

Juno unplugged it and began fixing Nureyev a mug of coffee.

“Juno?”

Juno hummed in acknowledgment.

“Did you hear what I asked?”

“No,” he lied, blinking sluggishly for good measure.

Nureyev came up behind him, a worried frown marring his youthful features. He laid a hand on Juno’s hip. “It’s alright, I’ll do that. Go to bed.”

Juno closed his eyes as Nureyev kissed his forehead.

He breathed in as Nureyev stepped into his space, bringing him into his arms.

“Do you want me to take over for you down there?” Nureyev asked. “I can still write while doing my job. You can just rest for a while.”

“You don’t have to,” Juno said against his shoulder. “I can do it.”

“Juno…”

Juno pulled away, forcing a smile. He was sure Nureyev saw through it. “I’m okay, I just need some rest. Make your coffee. Finish your song.”

Nureyev let him go as he headed for their bedroom.

* * *

“If you’re going to be like this, you could have just left me there, you know.”

She sighed, rubbing under her eye before looking up.

There she was.

Her wife, back in her solid black and cool blues. Vespa’s hair looked pallid against the ensemble of her attire, but she once said it made them look like they came as a pair.

Buddy had loved that.

She couldn’t say it wasn’t good to have her back, despite her constant complaining. 

The few months without her, the first in however long they were stuck together just dealing with the effects of the War, in however short they were apart, were almost excruciating for her. She couldn’t even say if she’d properly quelled that last riot that had broken out a month ago before she couldn’t take it anymore.

Buddy sat back against her chair, forcing a smile. It was done, after all. Vespa was back by her side. That was all that mattered. “What are you talking about now, darling?”

Vespa scoffed, then stalked up to her desk. “You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.”

Buddy raised a brow at her. “We have many threads we’ve left lying around. Which should I pick up?”

Vespa threw her hands up and started pacing the office. “Where do I start? The Ferryman’s already overworked and you _still_ dragged them to Mars with you.”

“They said they didn’t mind.”

“There’s a line that is looped _five times_ around the Lethe and getting longer by the minute.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Cerberus hasn’t been fed yet and is beginning to chew at whatever he can find.”

Buddy snorted. “I’m sure he hasn’t hurt anyone. It’s _just_ Cerberus.”

Vespa glared at her. “You _left_ a riot here. And all you’ve done since we got back is shut me out of _my_ office while you shut yourself in yours.”

Buddy nodded.

“Well?”

Buddy raised a brow. “Oh, you’re done? I was wondering when you’d let me speak. How _did_ you break into my office?”

Vespa only glared at her.

Buddy shrugged. “So I may be a bit behind on a lot of things. If you want, you can go feed Cerberus. I’ll deal with the rest.”

Vespa scoffed, looking off to the side as if looking at someone to commiserate with. Buddy wouldn’t let that get on her nerves either.

“Great, Buddy. Just fan _tas_ tic.”

She began pacing again, gesticulating as she went. “You dragged me away from what’s supposed to be six. _Six months_ of doing a job, just the one out of so many more that I’m supposed to do Above.”

She was wearing her stomping boots again, Buddy observed, tracking mud in her office.

How unfortunate. That had been her favorite carpet.

Vespa stopped, facing her. “Instead, it’s half that, and for _what?!_ ”

“Darling–”

Vespa’s tone was starting to quiver as she continued, “You’re not letting me do anything here. You just want me to sit around doing nothing while you do all the work! And when I try to tell you, you start zoning out on me because you’re too tired from doing everything by yourself!”

Buddy laughed, pushing herself up to stand. “Vespa, dear. Do you think this is _fun_ for me? That I’m doing this because I’m bored?”

“No.”

“Then be grateful,” she hissed.

Vespa gawked at her. “Again. For _what_?! Did you think I was just up there, late for a couple of _centuries_ might I add, because _I_ was bored?”

“No,” Buddy gritted out. “No, I didn’t think that.”

“Then what the hell gives!” Vespa cried out.

Buddy felt all the fight drain out of her.

What gave, to use Vespa’s terminology, was that Buddy missed spending time with her. That was all there was to it.

She’d been through so many iterations of this same argument about letting Vespa back up top and well... this was always going to be where it stopped. 

And wasn’t she too late already? She’d heard what that one lady had been thinking about them. That Vespa was lying to her face about even wanting things to be good for them.

“I don’t understand you anymore,” Vespa whispered, eyes wide with concern and pity and sadness, burning Buddy to her core. “We used to work _so well_ together. What happened?”

Buddy didn’t know why she kept deluding herself if it was all lies, to begin with.

She walked around her desk. “Fine. You want to work? Take everything in here.” She gestured to her office, overturned folders and files on random chairs.

Vespa rolled her eyes.

Buddy felt numb as she raised her voice. “No! Don’t roll your eyes. Here, take it since you want it so much.” She shoved them into Vespa’s arms. “I try to do something nice for you after the first time in centuries you leave Hades, in the middle of this forsaken _War_ . And you turn it on its heel and make it a bad thing. I’m _trying_ , darling. Is that not enough for you?”

“Bud—”

Buddy held her hand up. “I’m not having any of it.”

She made her way past Vespa and out of her office.

“And where are _you_ going?” Vespa shouted from the top of the staircase after her.

“Getting some rest. Haven’t had any in a few centuries. Be a dear and try not to ruin our kingdom!”

They’ve lasted so long already. And yet still, some part of her thought that this was the eventuality it was all coming to: that she and Vespa were always meant to fall apart.

It’d been several things before: the sun, the mortals on Earth, something or other she was always going to put above Buddy. As always, Buddy was going to be the villain.

Why was she even surprised? Why hadn’t she already gotten used to it?

She blended into the shadows and stepped out of a tunnel.

Hyperion City.

She’d wanted to stay here? Alright.

Buddy shifted her hair over the lens of her other eye. “Time to see what all the fuss is about.”

* * *

When Juno woke, he thought he was still dreaming.

There was no way the alarm on their nightstand said _18:30_. It was nine in the morning when he last checked.

Juno rolled out of bed and put some shorts on, squinting around the apartment. “Nureyev?”

Nothing. The lights were on, sure, but there was nothing but the howling winds outside and the sound of the bar open downstairs.

Well, there was a note on the front door.

_Down at work. Please keep resting. When you wake up, I’ll sing to you._

_Signed, your better half,_

_Peter Nureyev._

_PS: There’s some fig preserves Jet brought in in the cupboards if you want something to eat ♡_

Juno sighed, snatching the note from the door. He folded it neatly and slipped it into his coat by the rack, turning to look around their apartment.

He thought sleep was going to make him feel a little better, but being alone with his thoughts for once felt like a death sentence.

He shuffled into the kitchen. Knowing Jet, Juno wasn’t going to be allowed even through the front door of The Ruby if he tried to check in on things.

He grabbed a chair and knelt on the counter, looking through the cupboard for a ration bar behind the jars of preserves Jet or Nureyev had stacked in. But then, something caught his eye.

He pulled it out of the cupboard and turned to sit on the counter.

It was his candle.

He thought he’d lost it. It was the candle he always lit for… for his brother's death anniversary. Since he let the lease run out on his apartment in the city proper, this thing was the only remainder of his past keeping him on Mars at all. 

Every year since he’d left Oldtown he’d light this candle every evening as a reminder that if his twin didn’t die fairly, Juno wasn’t going to die a hero either.

And he’d lost it.

On the day he met Nureyev.

Juno grabbed the plasma lighter by the stove and lit the wick, jumping off the counter to put it down on the dining table.

When Nureyev leaves, it was just going to be Juno and this candle again. Just the memory of his brother’s death keeping him alive for however many years he had left. Before either Hyperion City, the scarcity of food, or hypothermia killed him.

But Nureyev wasn’t going to leave. He said he’d stay. He said he would try his best to fix this, that he knew how to.

It was just that the rest of the universe was a freight train and whoever was too slow to get out of the way before it circled around again was a sucker. And sure, Nureyev could probably fix what was wrong eventually.

The question was just if he was going to do it with Juno at his side.

He needed to clear his head.

He blew out the candle on his way out.

* * *

The sandstorms crossed into the Valles Marineris that night.

Jet tried to ignore the worry beating at the edges of his mind, knowing that it was futile. The cage clanged as the wind picked up outside. He knew how this story went.

Nureyev scribbled in his notebook at the bar, one hand on the counter as he tried to be subtle about it. He wrote there, oblivious to what was about to happen.

Jet could warn him. Jet could tell him Juno was outside right then and there, that he was going to get swept away to Hades by the end of the night one way or another.

But the Fates had their way. It didn’t matter if this poet ran after his lover before Hades took him. This song had a beat it was playing to, and it was going to play out from start to end, whatever happened.

Jet walked into the backroom and blinked back his tears.

* * *

Juno hugged his coat closer to himself.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Juno couldn’t say because he couldn’t tell it apart from the other bad decisions he’d already made.

The wind wasn’t letting up. It felt like it was getting stronger the farther he got from The Ruby.

Maybe he should take shelter until it dies down.

He couldn’t think properly with the wind roaring in his ears and, well, at least he succeeded with that.

Juno squinted through the dust but couldn’t find light. Where even was he? He knew he was still on the street, based on the concrete floor, but there was nothing else he could see to pinpoint where exactly he was since these winds started.

Eventually, he found something.

It was a light over a tunnel leading down.

Desperate for shelter, he didn’t reconsider. Juno broke out into a sprint, hoping that he didn’t have to use the plasma cutter in his coat for self-defense. Anyone could be down in that shelter, he thought to himself.

He ducked in and froze near the top of the stairwell.

This was… the old subway.

The tunnel was lit all the way down. Juno could see the bottom, with its cracked tiles and exposed concrete walls.

Immediately, he felt wrong just being there.

Wasn’t the electricity cut off? Had that been a lie? What if the radiation thing was a lie too?

Juno took a few steps further down and sat on the stairwell instead. He fished his comms out of his pocket and dusted off the sand sticking to it.

His hand came away with static-stuck grains of red.

Juno felt himself go cold as he finally heard something over the wind howling outside: horns.

Warning horns.

The storms were here.

Biting his lip, Juno called Nureyev, leg shaking as he glanced up at the mouth of the cave.

He could leg it back to the pub if the winds toned down a bit. It wasn’t that long a walk to and from here if he remembered correctly. The trouble was just if he was going to be able to do it blind.

If he couldn’t then… 

Nureyev would have to notice eventually, right? He’d ask Jet and…

Juno tried to stifle his panicked breaths, tried to keep calm.

He could keep himself safe in a fight. Any kind, really: blaster fight, knife fight, or a fistfight. Juno could defend himself and get out relatively alright. Nothing a quick visit to the QuikMed and months of physical therapy couldn’t fix.

But he couldn’t contend with storms. They were unreliable and merciless, they didn’t have feints or weaknesses he could exploit. He couldn’t outrun or beat them through sheer determination. It was a wall of dust blocking out the projected dome lights and whatever signals anyone could run through it and subjecting everything in darkness. It could last between hours and days and weeks. 

All he could do was hide and wait.

Juno tried not to weep but it was difficult not to as Nureyev’s comms kept ringing... And ringing… And ringing... And _cut_. 

He tried Mick’s.

Nothing.

He tried Diamond’s.

Nothing.

Hell, he even tried Puck Falco’s, for what it was worth.

Nothing.

Last resort. He tried the HCPD.

Nothing.

He knew the storm was blocking him out. That was just what storms did. But he had to try. He couldn’t just sit here, cry, and wait for certain death no matter how awful he felt.

He couldn’t believe the last thing he’d said to Nureyev was _Finish your song_.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Juno yelped, uncurling and dropping his comms down the stairwell and into the subway. He wiped his tears away with an arm and squinted up at… Vespa’s wife?

“Uh…”

“Is this what all the fuss is about?” She asked, looking out at the mouth of the tunnel. “It’s all just red sand out there. I don’t know how she turned anything into spring.”

“You… came at the wrong time,” Juno said, sniffling. “W-what are you doing here?”

Buddy looked down at him, bemused. “I could ask you the same thing.”

She moved to sit beside him, about a foot away.

Juno tried not to think about what meeting the Queen of the Underworld meant for him, alone in this irradiated subway tunnel stuck in a sandstorm.

Juno tried not to do a lot of things.

He couldn’t say he was succeeding in any of them.

Buddy crossed her legs. “So, if I came at the right time, what _would_ I be looking at?”

Juno wiped at his face. “Oldtown. I don’t know what to tell you, lady. It’s just people going about their business everyday.”

Buddy leaned back and grabbed something from her pocket. “You can try better than that, I think. You grew up here, right?”

She turned and extended something towards him. Juno scooched back against the wall, squinting down at it.

It was a handkerchief.

Juno glanced up at her before warily taking it. A wave of calm washed over him but he couldn’t tell if it was because he was being cautious or because Buddy was making it happen. Jet never manipulated his emotions before, he reasoned with himself.

“Clean up and tell me about your city, darling,” Buddy said, but it was nothing short of a command. “This is the most free time I’ve given myself since the War began. I suggest you don’t waste it, Juno.”

Juno nodded, wiping his face clean the best he could. “How do you know my name?”

Buddy tapped her temple with a well-manicured finger, smirking.

Well, that was all the context he was ever going to get for that.

“Right, so usually Oldtown is… pretty dusty. People are just doing their best to make ends meet even under the ration act. Some people like to hoard the tickets so we have to do a lot of shady stuff to get what we need. There’s a lot of cops, a lot of people from the Solar military recruiting kids—”

“And?”

“A-and that’s the _usual_ bit. When Vespa got here we were doing pretty alright. I-I mean,” Juno fiddled with the handkerchief. “I haven’t checked much because we got busy but I know crime rates went down fast when rationing became less of an issue.”

Buddy stared at him, bemused as far as Juno could tell. He only had the one eye to tell with.

“I don’t think you outgrew your cop phase,” Buddy said. Juno thought she might be teasing. He bit down the urge to ask her how she knew that again.

Instead, he shrugged. “Not much of one. Barely a few years of service.”

Buddy hummed. “I suppose you could say you forced yourself into it. Hero complex and all.”

Juno made an affronted sound. 

She laughed. “Don’t be ashamed of it. They’re not rare. I have a bunch of old souls down in Hades that are pretty much the same and they’re all in Elysium.”

“It’s not _that_ heroic,” Juno muttered. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t dreamt of the Elysium Fields. But he couldn’t just leave Mars behind. Because of Nureyev. Because of the greater good of every starving citizen in Hyperion City. Because…

Because of Benten.

Dying a hero’s death was too easy, he always thought. Nothing was ever going to be good enough to repair the blaster shot that was supposed to be for him.

Buddy scoffed, unimpressed, “You’d be surprised what _some_ souls think could pass off as altruism. You’re fine. At least it’s not for fame and glory. That was a fad I was _not_ a fan of.”

Juno shrugged. He couldn’t really contest that. He didn’t like people from the academy and the force who were glory hogs either.

But those were his own moral questions. He had… a lot of questions unrelated to death that he wanted to ask Buddy. 

It was rare that he got a quiet moment with Vespa when she was here, and talking to Jet about what it was like to be immortal felt a bit inappropriate. Part of him, well, expected that they would think he was asking stupid questions anyway. Here he was, sitting on the steps to an old subway with the Queen of the Underworld—

“Oh, just spit it out,” Buddy snapped.

Juno jolted. “Uh, why are you telling me all this?”

Buddy took a moment to look at him, _really properly_ observe him. Her hair swept away from the side of her face and revealed a scar and a cybernetic eye. It didn’t detract from her regality any less. The contrast fit, somehow, the godly agelessness mashing with the vulnerability of a mortal form.

“You’re right, that _was_ a stupid question,” she finally said.

That punched a laugh out of him.

Buddy smiled. “Well now, are you going to listen, or are you just going to stare at me some more?”

Juno felt his face heat. “Uh, sorry, go on.”

Buddy leaned back against the stairs. “It’s alright, I don’t mind it. Flattery gets old when it only comes from your wife.”

Juno didn’t know what the hell that meant so he just nodded.

“Well,” Buddy sighed. “I just thought we were sharing things. You’ll be in Hades eventually so it’s no big secret.”

“Comforting.”

Buddy laughed. “It’s natural.”

It was, Juno thought. It was just a lot to think about at the moment. “Well, how long are you staying? I mean, I think Jet could—”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’m a very busy god, Juno. But I appreciate it. I just wanted to chat about… whatever came to mind. Hades has been a lot lately.”

“I can’t imagine,” Juno said genuinely. He picked at his boots, trying to dust off the static-stuck sand on its surface. “I mean, you’ve got… however many planets the Solar Government is trying to take over right now. And regular deaths on top of that. Must be rough.”

“For me?” Buddy scoffed. “I’ve handled worse. It’s… Never mind me. You must have it rougher here. What with all this corruption despite the conflict affecting your community.”

Juno shrugged. “It is what it is. Not like I could leave.”

“You could,” Buddy pointed out. “You could leave any time, go anywhere you want, be someone new and just forget it all even exists.”

Juno rolled his eyes, looking up at Buddy. “I couldn’t. I _won’t_.”

“What, because of your lover? Peter Nureyev, was it?”

Juno inclined his head, at a loss for words. Nureyev was kind of a Schrödinger’s reason. He was scared to look inside the box and decide whether he used Nureyev as an excuse to stay or an excuse to leave. He could tell Nureyev to quit trying to fix Mars and just whisk him away, of course, that had always been an option. They could even get Jet’s blessing for it.

It was just Juno.

Juno _could_ leave. He just wouldn’t. He wanted to stop being forced to survive and get the rest he needed, is all. Neither option seemed to satisfy this, so he stayed with the default setting.

“You need a vacation,” Buddy cut in.

Juno blinked. “What.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like this sandstorm’s letting up any time soon,” Buddy pointed out. She had a point. From the looks of the darkness outside and the sounds of the wind coming into the tunnel, it was only getting worse up there. “And I don’t think you want to go home just yet if you’re in the middle of a storm at this time of night. Why not come south for the winter?”

Juno blinked, leaning back to get a proper look at Buddy. “You mean…”

“Hades is just a wind away,” Buddy said airily.

“I would literally _die_ , Buddy. I know you know that but I think it’s important that I point that out. You’re telling me that I should die just because I got stuck out in this storm.”

“Couldn’t you though?” She asked, bemused. “This storm could last either hours or days and neither of us knows if you’ll actually survive it.”

Juno shook his head. “No, no. You’re— I appreciate the thought. I just…”

“Then how about a trade. I ask you to trade off one thing,” she raised a finger in emphasis, tapping at her cheek, just below her right eye, hidden under the fringe of her hair. “And I give you something that could give you access to Hades and let you come back here when you think the storms have passed.”

He raised his hand to his right eye. “Why?”

“I like you, Juno Steel,” Buddy said. She meant it genuinely, he could tell, and he didn’t know what to do with that. “You remind me of me. Normally that annoys me, but call me nostalgic. But, if you're asking why I'm asking you for your eye, it's just so you'll have access to Hades without having to die. So?”

So.

Juno should have paused to think about it. He should have considered every choice he had and chose the best one. After all, he was the practical one, the one who planned ahead. 

But he wasn’t any “one” anymore. He was just Juno Steel, the twinless twin. A half trying to pass off as someone whole.

Juno hugged his coat closer to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets.

One of his hands scraped across something.

Juno looked down and pulled it out of his pocket.

It was Nureyev’s tissue paper flower and his note. He opened the note as he twirled the flimsy paper flower with a free hand.

_Your better half,_  
  
_Peter Nureyev._

Juno scoffed, trying not to be obvious about sniffling to himself. He sat there, just staring at that stupid little scribbled heart at the end of the note like it could summon Nureyev himself to convince him not to leave. 

If he believed in any of that Fate crap, he’d think maybe this was _meant_ to happen. Maybe every warp and weft of his thread on the tapestry of Time pointed to Juno and Nureyev’s meeting but not staying together. He _could_ believe it, but he knew that life was just a game of choices and all you had to play with were the cards you were dealt with.

At that moment, Nureyev wasn’t on the deck. 

Juno was alone with the Lady of the Underworld, faced with certain death and a bargain that would essentially doom him to hell. 

It all depended on if he was going to get himself out of dying in an abandoned subway or not. 

Gingerly, he put the note a step behind them.

“Alright,” he said, turning to Buddy.

In her hand was a single, impossibly red poppy.

Juno felt his throat dry at the sight of it. “Before... t _hat,_ Can I use your comms? Yours will probably work. I just need to call someone real quick.”

* * *

“Hey, Jet. It’s me, I’m calling from… Never mind. You know already.

“Could you check on Nureyev for me? _Don’t_ send him! I’m alright. I’m— I already tried and my comms isn’t pulling through right now. This thing Buddy gave me doesn’t work like a comms so I can’t—

“That’s not important. Just… Actually no. Don’t. Uh… Just take care of him, alright? Don’t make him take the blame for this. I love him. Heh, I would… He has _no idea_ what I’d do just to make him happy. This? It’s just me. It’s _entirely_ me.

“I’d love to stay, I really would. But I’m tired of waiting for things to happen. I knew how it was going to end, and I’m tired of… I’m just _tired_ , okay. And I don’t think I’m coming back from this. This isn’t like leaving Oldtown. This is. This is _permanent_ , Jet. You know that.

“So… Whatever, give him all I left in our apartment. Just don’t let him mourn me. I’m not worth that. Let him leave Mars like I know he always wanted to. Don’t let him stay there unless it’s for his own goals. Let him leave, but don’t let him die. 

“He can do that without me. Probably.

“I gotta go. Goodbye. And...

“I’m really sorry, Jet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops! uh. yeah
> 
> no fun facts this week, just pain.
> 
> that being said, after next week's chapter, I'm going to be skipping 2 updates before starting on Act 2 (just like in the musical! surprise!!). mostly to adjust to my studies and also to adjust on... other projects i'm working on.
> 
> as always, comments are appreciated.


	5. don't look back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s in Hades.”
> 
> Nureyev stood there. He could feel his energy drain as he stared, dumfounded, at Jet. “No,” he whispered. “That’s not funny.”
> 
> “I am not joking,” Jet said, voice weak. “He tried to contact you but no signals came through the storm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for implied death and suicide, implied injuries, and intentional starvation.

What was it like to see a god crying?

Nureyev shuffled by the doorway, pocketing his comms.

The answer was: awkward at best. At worst, it felt terrible seeing a friend like this, as he didn’t know how to console him.

Jet was a silent weeper. He stared blankly down on the counter, nursing a mug of tea as he sniffled to himself. This was the most emotionally vulnerable he’d seen Jet since they’d met. For a while at the start there, he thought the idea that the gods had mortal emotions was just a baseless rumor.

“Just come in,” Jet grumbled, voice hoarse. He wiped away his tears, a futile action with the way the tears kept coming. “How’s your writing?”

Nureyev walked around the counter to hover over Jet’s side. “It’s… going alright, thanks for asking. And you?”

Jet shook his head.

Nureyev sat down on the stool next to him. He wanted to press on but he couldn’t find the tact to question him properly. So instead, he asked, “Well, have you seen Juno? He’s not answering his comms and I thought maybe you’d… Know.”

Their apartment had been empty when he finished his shift. Juno’s pack had been on the bed, his candle on the dining table. His coat and boots were gone, and so was the note Nureyev stuck on the door.

He couldn’t have gone far if he left. Maybe he’d gone for a walk or gotten something from the store. Juno could fend for himself. He didn’t need Nureyev calling at the first sign of panic.

Jet’s mug cracked, then started leaking from the bottom.

Nureyev jolted, frantically looking around for a dishrag. “Jet, the tea—”

“He’s gone.”

Nureyev shook his head. It was an exercise, leashing his conclusions to the ground as he tried to focus on the task at hand. “What? Jet, we need to get that cleaned up.”

Jet threw the remnants at the wall of bottles in front of them. 

Nureyev flinched.

The tea dripped down from the countertop to the floorboards. 

Jet glanced at him. “Sorry.”

Nureyev shook his head, standing up to go around the counter.

He was raised to have a certain behavior. 

At the first sign of trouble, he _had_ to disappear. In that environment, certain words meant a lot of things. _Gone_ meant _to hide_. Or _to exchange one problem with another_. Translated to his native language, it just meant empty space.

Nureyev didn’t know what “gone” meant on Mars or with Juno. He didn’t know what it meant coming from Jet either. So, with some struggle, he leashed his conclusions and kept going.

He grabbed a disposable bag from behind the counter and crouched down to gather whatever shards were big enough to spot. 

“He _left_ , Nureyev.” 

Jet was tired and he had to help. That was all Nureyev could think about at the moment. Juno could wait. File it away, Peter. Consoling Jet had to take priority.

When Nureyev finished cleaning up, he stood, avoiding looking at Jet.

Jet waved a hand and reformed his mug from the shards. The tea was back in it as well.

Nureyev dropped the rag, dry, on the countertop and ran his hand through his hair. He took a few measured breaths. Once he’d gathered his wits, he looked up at Jet.

Jet, at least, had the decency to look chastised as he stared down at his tea. He cleared his throat and said, “You’re stalling. Check your call history.”

Nureyev searched his face for a moment, dread pooling in his gut. Jet’s eyes were puffy, cheeks still wet. He looked miserable and resigned and completely incapable of deception. 

Despite himself, Nureyev moved to fish his comms out from one of his pockets.

And there it was. There had been a call from midnight that morning, something he must not have checked.

Nureyev blinked down at it, confused. “What…”

“There was a storm outside last night,” Jet said. “There’s going to be one tonight as well.”

“What?” Nureyev asked again, putting his comms down. “Jet, what do you mean? Where’s Juno, where did he—? Why did he call?”

“He’s in Hades.”

Nureyev stood there. He could feel his energy drain as he stared, dumfounded, at Jet. “No,” he whispered. “That’s not funny.”

“I am not joking,” Jet said, voice weak. “He tried to contact you but no signals came through the storm.”

More questions bubbled in him. He beat down agitation with a stick. “He was _in_ the storm last night and left for Hades? How do you know?”

Jet looked at him, tears streaming down once more. “I just do,” he whispered. “I delivered souls sometimes, remember?”

“To—?”

“To Hades. Yes.”

Nureyev took a deep breath. “He tried to call me before he…” He trailed off. He felt his mouth dry.

Juno was gone.

Juno got stuck in the storm.

Juno _left_.

“I’m sorry,” Jet muttered. “I’m not allowed to meddle with this, but I should have told you earlier.”

Nureyev nodded. "Alright."

Jet stared at him. "Alright?"

Nureyev raised a brow. "Jet, I can sing and grow as many flowers I can, it's not going to resurrect Juno. As you so put it, he left. By your words, he went _willingly_."

"Oh. You're giving up, then," he said flatly. “I see.”

Nureyev chuckled, turning to leave. He hated that it sounded so bitter, hated that he didn’t even want to let himself feel bitter. As if sensitivity to Juno’s demise would have kept him from leaving. 

Maybe if he didn’t look at Jet, it wouldn’t seem obvious that he was just lying to himself. "This may come as a surprise to you, but mortality just works that way."

“Does that mean you’re leaving Mars?”

Nureyev shrugged. To his own surprise, he confessed, “I don’t have much reason to stay anymore.”

And it was true. For the most part, he was only really staying in Mars for Juno. Because Juno had asked. Because he’d do anything for him.

"... You _could_ go to him."

Nureyev stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn to look at Jet. 

If he had, maybe he'd see something apart from sadness in those immortal eyes, mourning the loss of a soul he'd eventually forget with the passage of time. Maybe he’d see disappointment, disgust.

"You loved him,” said Jet.

Nureyev’s throat constricted. Hoarse, he pushed out, "He _left_ me."

"Not as willingly or for the reasons you think," Jet retorted. “If I told you there was a way to see him without dying, you could take it. You may even just die to do so, regardless of if I tell you right now."

At this, Nureyev did turn. His hands were shaking as he made his way back to Jet and slammed his palms, stinging, against the grain of the synthwood. 

"You know _so much_ about me, then, don't you?" He seethed. Jet didn't blink, barely even breathed. "My name when I don't give it to you, my thoughts when I don't tell you anything. And now some emotions you _assume_ I have for someone who thought death was better than living with _me_. Oh, you know what I may do? Go on, tell me what I may do next."

Jet, impossibly, looked sadder at his outburst. He could read any number of negative emotions into it, but Jet’s face was nothing but dejection in that moment. "Juno is not dead," he said, voice nothing but a whisper.

"No, he's just in _Hades_!" He cried out, nearly hysterical. "Where the dead go when they die! Do you need a refresher on mortality, my lord?"

Jet stood and loomed over Nureyev. “Do _not_ patronize me,” he said. His voice boomed loud in the silence of the pub, but he hadn’t raised his voice. “I know more than I let on and tell you only what you need to know. Juno is _not dead_.”

Nureyev felt heat rise to the surface at Jet’s words. “‘What I need to know’… Jet.”

Jet seemed to realize what he’d done. He didn’t so much as curl in on himself, make himself smaller as Nureyev raised a brow at him, but he did close his mouth. His jaw clenched shut.

“Jet, what aren’t you telling me?”

Jet didn’t answer.

Nureyev withdrew his hands from the counter. “Alright then. I won’t force you—”

Jet breathed out, frustrated. “What does it matter? What would knowing about his reasons _change_ for you? You are going to think he left because of either you or me. He is twenty-eight years old. He had a life before meeting either of us. It is unlikely it would have been either of our faults but still, you—”

“So you _don’t_ blame yourself for this?” Nureyev dared. “You don’t think we could have stopped him or changed his mind? You don’t think we weren’t enough to make him stay?”

All the fight left Jet at that question. He bent and crumpled like the pressure was too much for him, head bowed, face nearly pressing against the synthwood. He looked like he was begging for forgiveness, bowing that low. “... can’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘ _can’t_ ’?”

Jet sighed. 

“What kind of restrictions are there for a god, Nureyev?” he asked instead. “If mortals have constants, so do the gods. In the hands of the Fates, trying to change things is futile. It’s one of the only things connecting us. I cannot bring him back.”

“And you think I can?”

“Wouldn’t you? Do you love him enough to die?”

Nureyev couldn’t answer. 

Instead, he left Jet there, bowed over the grain of the synthwood, miserable and tired. 

He had packing to do.

* * *

She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt Buddy come back.

Vespa had gotten everything in working order just as soon as Buddy left, having already given specific people work to do before she came to her office. What she’d had to do while she signed document after document instead was think of a way to apologize.

It wasn’t the first time they had a disagreement that led to one of them walking out on the other, and it wasn’t going to be their last. Such was immortal marriage.

Normally, Buddy took long walks on the surface to calm herself down. These trips were fewer and further between than Vespa’s outbursts, which often led to pruning bushes and trees in the garden out back, if she wasn’t using the pent-up aggression by keeping a careful eye on the work of repentant souls and assisting with the flow of the new arrivals.

Vespa’s outbursts lasted longer too, mostly because time passed faster Below.

She signed the last document on the docket before grabbing Buddy’s shawl from the back of her chair and leaving the office. Descending the stairs with quick steps, she tried thinking of which entrance Buddy would have come in through.

“Oh, you’ll _love_ it here. You ain’t workin’, right? You’re just here to—Oh! Miss Vespa!”

Vespa felt herself falter at the final step.

It was one of the harpies. The short one, as Vespa called her, because all harpies were loud by nature so she couldn’t really call her that. 

Buddy had taken a liking to this one but Buddy took a liking to almost anyone that hadn’t been in Hades as long as either of them.

It wasn’t exactly the harpy that had stopped her in her tracks. It was the person who stood awkwardly by her side. 

Translucent and dressed in a shabby coat and workers’ garb stood one of Jet’s mortal friends. Well, used to be one of his mortal friends anyway.

Juno Steel. 

His head was wrapped in bandages, covering his right eye. There was a glint of defiant fear in his remaining eye, the same defiant fear she’d seen from him before she left Hyperion. _Ask me why I’m here_ , his gaze dared her. _You know why, don’t you?_

Vespa felt the bare bones of the apology in her head wither and another guilt bloom from its ashes.

Juno was dead and it was because she’d left. She knew this without him even saying it.

“Miss Vespa?”

She blinked, then looked down at the harpy. “What?”

The harpy glanced to and from Juno, unsure of how to proceed. 

“Do you need something?” Juno asked. His eye said, _Don’t say yes_.

Vespa was about to open her mouth to… answer, at least, when the door to the treasury slid open from behind Juno and the harpy.

Buddy stepped out, sweeping her hair away from her face. She pinned it up with a flower, one from Vespa’s garden, a red poppy almost as vivid as the red of her hair. She punched in her door code, something even Vespa wasn’t privy to, privacy and all that. 

She turned when it beeped, saw Vespa, and… smiled.

Vespa felt her mouth dry at the sight of it, her face heating even after all these years.

“Oh, Vespa darling. There you are. Rita and I were just about to take Juno for a walking tour of the place, get him used to a few things. Would you mind coming along?”

Vespa blinked.

“Rita,” she muttered to herself.

“Yes, Miss Vespa, ma’am!” shouted the harpy—Rita.

Vespa shook her head. “Nothing. Sure, Bud.”

“Splendid!” Buddy said, walking past Vespa down the hall. “Let’s get going. I have papers to sign. You too, Juno.”

“Sure,” was Juno’s resigned grumble.

* * *

_Do you love him enough to die?_

Nureyev stood by the doorway, his duffle in hand, Juno’s backpack strapped on one shoulder, and his guitar case on the other. He breathed in the stale air of the cooped up apartment, of its spring flowers and air freshener and a scent Nureyev always associated with Juno.

At midnoon, Oldtown was as bright as it could be considering the faulty dome lights. The light from outside streamed in, casting the apartment in a dull gray. Flower petals and leaves were scattered around, on every surface he put a bottle-vase on. 

It seemed appropriate to leave it there, really. 

Though no one had died in it, there were ghosts in the apartment, ghosts he at least wanted to commemorate. They were ghosts of nights and mornings spent in laughter and music, of kisses over the table and under the covers. If Nureyev closed his eyes, he could still feel and hear them.

He kept his eyes wide open.

_Do you love him enough to die?_

Kisses with Juno always felt like coming home and without him there it seemed inappropriate to dwell any longer. 

If Juno wished to part ways, there was no harm in widening the trench.

He turned.

The door to the apartment slid open.

Nureyev sighed.

“You’re leaving,” Jet said, leaning against the wall adjacent.

“You knew I was leaving, I told you,” he retorted bitterly as he stepped out. “You’re not going to convince me to stay, Jet, but I assure you, it’s nothing personal.”

“I will not convince you,” Jet assured him as he walked past him to make his descent to the exit.

“Charming of you.”

“Walk straight through the old subway tunnels,” Jet called out. “Keep going until you cannot and sing your song.”

Nureyev stopped at the foot of the stairs, glaring up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Guiding you,” he said. He tossed something in the air, which made Nureyev drop his duffel and stagger to catch it.

When Nureyev looked at it, it looked… primitive. It had a glass screen and a green case. A phone, people used to call it. Nureyev had seen one in museums before but never something so worn and still functioning. 

It was open on voice mail.

He looked up, mouth open to ask Jet what it was, but he’d disappeared.

Nureyev sighed. Typical.

Midnight, last night, the message said. From a _BA._

Nureyev was no idiot. He knew what this was about and who this was from. He knew what Jet was doing.

_Do you love him enough to die?_

Foolishly, Nureyev pressed it anyway.

_“Hey, Jet. It’s me, I’m calling from… Never mind. You know already. Could you check on Nureyev for me…?”_

* * *

They took a break on the ramparts. 

Juno was unused to being dead, Vespa assumed, since the trek had taken a bit of a toll on him. He said he had weak lungs, but Vespa felt like it was the unspoken fear of heights, really. 

Rita, being a harpy, brought food from Above, just little snacks here and there that she shared with him as they took a break. She spoke rapidly and tangentially about… something or other (Vespa wasn’t really listening) and often had to ask Juno where she’d been going before getting back on track.

It was a bit ironic how frail this dead Juno was, as opposed to how tough he used to be Above. The irony was lost to her guilt, so she didn’t have much to be amused about. Just looking at him was enough of a reminder of why she’d been so mad at Buddy in the first place.

Speaking of.

Lord Hades herself was overseeing the workers below, lounging at the ramparts with that poppy in her hair.

Vespa came up to her side.

From this view, one could see almost a quarter of the whole kingdom. Everyday they had a little more room to expand since space exploration turned into space colonization, as Hades had done so with maritime colonization.

Those were terrible times. Vespa often had to skip seasons just to assist.

Cerberus laid on their paws by the gates. Vespa could see the glint of their tongues lolling out from this distance. Below and beside Cerberus and the wall, the workers were working on more and more expansion, picking at the wall in the most primitive way: pickaxes.

There were a few centuries back then where Vespa sneered at the way they were mirroring the state of things Up Above, the unwarranted slave labor they forced onto repentant souls, but Buddy knew what she was doing no matter what Vespa had to say about it. If Vespa had spoken out more, there was no saying if Buddy would actually budge. She never did, when it came to her realm.

“Hey,” Vespa muttered, bumping shoulders with her wife.

“Hey to you too,” was her amused response, bumping back.

“I’m… sorry about earlier,” Vespa said. She tried to word it as sincerely as she could, push it past her anger. “I knew you were locking yourself in your office because I was going to do that and I probably shouldn’t have broken in regardless. I just… You know why I was so mad, yeah?”

Buddy turned to her. “You want to help me and I’m preventing you from doing that.”

Vespa shrugged, leaning against the wall, “We’re a team, remember? If I don’t hold you up while you’re down, all of this is,” she gestured down at the workers and the rivers, “It’s going to fall apart.”

Buddy sighed. “I know, darling.”

“Then _why_?”

Buddy smiled, bittersweet. She nodded down at Hades. “Why did I build this wall?”

“You didn’t,” Vespa mocked, turning to lean her back against the wall instead. “You had _them_ do it.”

“Don’t be smart with me,” Buddy scolded.

Vespa chuckled, feeling herself lighten up. “Fine. Was that rhetorical?”

“Entirely,” she said, gesticulating. “Darling, people build walls to protect something. I’m confined here for all time, only coming up when my siblings summon me. And I’ve built myself a home that none of them care enough to be privy to. Apart from you.”

“Yeah. But no one’s going to _attack_ Hades, Bud. As much as the idiots Above don’t like it, our kingdom is sacred.”

Buddy looked at her again. “Then you’re aware that I have to protect its sanctity.”

“From what?”

She sighed. “Mortals change faster than we can take for granted, Vespa.”

This took her by surprise. That was a huge leap from talking about Hades to talking about mortals. Her confusion must have been evident on her face, because Buddy laughed.

It didn’t sound happy.

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

Buddy had said this to someone past Vespa. Vespa followed her gaze to Juno’s, who tensed from where he stood there with Rita. She’d almost forgotten they were even there.

Juno blinked. “Uh.”

“Well, go on,” Buddy said. “You understand me. Explain it to my wife.”

Vespa raised a brow at him, which was then met with an indignant pout that would have been cute, if Vespa actually cared. “I… guess you’re saying you’re building the walls to keep everyone in, not keep someone out.”

“Like prisons,” Vespa goaded, looking back at her wife.

“No, darling,” Buddy said. “If you let a mortal infant loose, it will die just as soon as it is born. It’s for their own safety.”

Vespa rolled her eyes. “So, you’re not letting me help you out because it’s for my own protection?”

Buddy squinted at her, but did not say anything else.

She scoffed. 

Figures. Guess it just ran in the family. When mortals said you ended up marrying your parents, they might have been onto something there. Because if Buddy didn’t respect her, she should have just said, really. Vespa wouldn’t have thrown this big a tantrum if she explained herself. 

Okay, maybe she would have, but the point was that if Buddy didn’t want to be her partner anymore, there were easier ways of letting it show. Like speaking to her honestly, without any more theatrics (not that Vespa minded the theatricality. It was part of her charm.) 

_Anything_ but robbing her of what had essentially been her job since she was born.

Vespa pushed up and away from the wall, walking onwards and not looking to see if they followed after her. “Let’s just get this stupid tour over with. You two have papers to sign, right?”

* * *

His flower, the one from months ago, was on the steps to the subway tunnels. 

Nureyev picked it up and twirled it by the stem.

Juno had been in the subway before he’d… gone.

He put his guitar down, opened the case to attach it to a tuning peg. It’d be a reminder of what he was going to Hades for.

He adjusted the mask on his face, his guitar on his back, and started walking again. 

He knew the hazards, remembered the tales of heroes going to Hades for trials and boons. 

For one, he wasn’t allowed to eat anything from there, which wasn’t a problem. Nureyev could go a day without food before having to. For good measure, Nureyev brought a few ration bars from Juno’s stash too, and he could stretch one bar out for three whole days, if absolutely needed.

He tried not to think about if Juno had stayed long enough in Hades to eat yet. 

He tried not to think about why he wasn’t thinking of that.

Another thing he had to remember was his name. He’d only started going by his real name again after meeting Juno and was used to giving out fake names. Only Juno would know him unless he absolutely had to run across Buddy and Vespa.

 _Getting to_ Hades was going to be the easy part, Nureyev knew. He’d hiked for days at a time before, when he had to go under the radar after supply runs. He tried not to think too long about Mag. He’d hiked with even less in his pack and even lesser in his head. In comparison to those hikes, this was a cakewalk. 

Walking _into_ the gates of the underworld was going to be another predicament.

He shook his head. He had to keep his mind off of it for now.

He jumped off the platform and onto the magnet tracks, long deactivated and inactive. Under his feet, he could almost imagine the hum of the bullet train thatJuno said ran for generations before the Outer Rim launched a counter-attack.

Idly, he wondered how the people back on Brahma would have reacted to him living with and getting invested in Martian Solar history like this. He might have been tried for treason, he thought, or immediately killed on sight.

He wondered, briefly, if that would have been better than living in what was essentially Hyperion’s slums for someone he loved.

It was still better than Brahmese slums. There was less bunched, claustrophobic makeshift houses, that was for sure. No one would shout at you to be quiet if you got particularly loud at night.

He supposed Oldtown had its perks and as he walked, he couldn’t help but think of the way Juno described it to him. Of the way he told Nureyev the history and how it shaped its citizens, how the War and the greed of the few made Juno feel frustrated and angry. 

Juno was a born storyteller where Nureyev was a singer, and Nureyev was willingly his captive audience. It’d been one of the many things he fell for after the fact: seeing and hearing Juno’s sense of righteousness and justice and ideals for his near mythic and doomed city felt so... vindicating.

He shook his head.

He couldn’t help but wonder where it’d all gone wrong.

Juno was a _survivor_. He wasn’t the type to keel over so readily.

Well, he _had_ been out in a sandstorm. Surviving a horrible town another was one thing, surviving a natural calamity was another.

But Jet couldn’t have been mistaken about it. Juno _left_ . He _chose_ to leave instead of braving the storm.

Jet also said he wasn’t dead, another part of him said, and if Jet just sent him on a wild goose chase, then Nureyev was just about to fast-track his own trip to Hades.

~~_Do you love him enough to die?_ ~~

He refused to approach the thought and what terrible emotions it could bring out of him, ruin his mood in this dark and cold place. 

His footsteps echoed down the tunnel, a steady metronomic beat keeping him company.

He lasted a while before he realized that he had little choice but to think in the silence. No choice but to grab the knob and slam the door open.

Had Nureyev not done enough? Had he overstepped and Juno hadn’t told him? All those questions and promises about wanting Nureyev to stay and Juno was the one who’d end up leaving anyway.

Nureyev laughed. It echoed down the tunnel as he did.

He had to stop thinking about this or else he’d turn back.

It was a lie, one that made him want to believe he was capable of turning back even more.

Peter Nureyev, walking the path to Hades for a lady who left him. 

It was laughable. 

Who did he think he was, going down to Hades for that? For meager _closure_ , just to see him one last time? _If_ he was able to walk back out, will the trouble of going to see him end up having been worth it?

**_Do you love him enough to die?_ **

He did, foolishly enough, and he hated himself for it.

* * *

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d started walking. He would check his comms, but part of him told him that it wouldn’t work. Some other part of him said that it was the fear of him finding out that he’d only been there a few hours, that he’d slowly been going insane in the tunnels, soaking himself in radiation.

He tapped one of the glow sticks he brought on his thigh, trying to ward off the thoughts. He couldn’t get his guitar out in front of him and walk at the same time. Neither could he write the lyrics down as he haltingly came up with them. So instead, he used the beat of the glow stick and hummed the tune between lyrics.

“ _Everybody hungry, everybody tired… everybody slaves by the sweat of their brows_ ,” he sang, kicking a rock along the rail. He chased after it, careful not to trip between the rails. “ _The wage is nothing and the work is hard. It’s a graveyard in Hades—”_

The rock clattered and hit his boot as it bounced back.

He froze, waving the glow stick out in front of him.

It was… a cave-in. It’d solidified, probably over time. 

When he looked closer, Nureyev could still see through the cracks from rocks that had yet to sediment, up at a distant night sky and the countless asteroids beyond Mars. Through his mask, he could hear the faint howling of the wind.

Dead end.

Nureyev considered his situation.

He looked around for a way deeper into the ground. There _had_ to be more than just this cave-in. He’d passed by maintenance doors on the way here, slept and ate and drank in them. Some had better radiation insulation than others. No matter how decrepit each room was, it was more comfortable than sleeping on the tracks. 

Maybe the cave-in had opened up a cavern by a maintenance door?

He ran up to the metal wall, dropped his glow stick, and felt around for a door. He hissed through the freezing cold seeping through his gloves, gritting his teeth against it. 

When the tips of his gloves caught on something, he wrenched it back as hard as he could and pulled with his entire body until.

A loud creak echoed down the tunnel behind him. 

The maintenance door opened despite the rust in its hinges. 

Nureyev scrambled for his glow stick and shone it into the open maw of the maintenance room.

The cave-in had made it in there, tore through insulating materials and piercing the red foundations. 

Other than that, this was also a dead end.

Jet had told him that when he couldn’t walk onwards anymore, he had to sing his song. Of all his songs, Jet only really talked about the one.

Nureyev swallowed down his apprehension the best he could and… sang.

Despite himself, he thought about his Juno, and really, why wouldn’t he? The song was Juno’s as much as it was his. It came into fruition the moment he saw him standing at The Ruby’s doorway. It rang in his head with grass beneath them, the stars above them. With Juno’s lips tasting of figs or coffee or Jet’s tea. With their hands together, fingers linked without a second thought.

And as he sang, the rocks and stones… _moved_. Formed a cavern big enough for him to walk into. It dug deeper and deeper below the surface still, until it got deep enough that Nureyev couldn’t see if it had stopped.

He hummed, adding the lyrics under his breath as he squinted down into it. He was about to descend when his light died and he was submerged in darkness.

When he tried, another glow stick refused to light up. Even his comms, when he brought it out, was dead.

Nureyev scoffed.

“That’s such a cheap metaphor. Of _course_ everything’s dead when entering Hades.”

Cautiously, Nureyev bent down and brought the candle out of his pack. 

It was Juno’s, really. He never found out what it was for but it was safe to assume it was for his brother.

He brought out his plasma lighter and tried to light it in the dark. 

The moment the wick caught, the whole cavern lit up.

Nureyev held his questions back, knowing no one would answer them, folded them up and filed them away for later. He held the candle out in front of him and walked on, his footsteps echoing, still, as he did. He’d begun to get used to the sound of them.

“You better not have died down there, Juno,” he muttered. “Or I _will_ kill you myself.”

As he descended into Hades, he kept singing, thinking of nothing but Juno as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun facts:  
> \- i make nureyev filipino in every au i write. so _gone_ in filipino is _wala_ , which could be translated and used any number of ways, including as the word for gone, empty space, a lack of something, and nothing. you can argue those mean the same things and i _dare_ you to use all those words interchangeably and say that to my face.  
> \- harpies, according to some bloke called homer, were the ones who took people who disappeared suddenly and brought them to the erinyes to be punished. they are also storm winds personified, according to hesiod. if you see where i'm going with this, thank you, i feel validated.
> 
> so! finally at the end of act one. how are we liking it so far? is it good? bad? have i made you cry yet? have i forced you to listen to the musical? tell me all about it.
> 
> a brief shout out to [**The Town Theatre Presents: Orpheus and Eurydice**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833817), a pathologic fic i read over the interim and presented me with the question nureyev gets asked in this chapter about sacrifice and death.
> 
> and of course, **the next update will be on 8 October 2020**. i know, i'm sorry for leaving it here and for so long, but i have a lot of projects in between that i hope y'all follow my social media for, so you can see all of it. act two isn't going to be as banger as how it starts in the musical, by virtue of vespa not being amber gray, but i will try to make it as banger as i can.


	6. it's the little things you miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vespa shook her head, “I don’t want to hear it, Steel. Whatever deal you signed off is between you and Buddy.”
> 
> “I… I have to go back,” Juno said.
> 
> Vespa snorted. “Do you even remember where?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for unreality, temporary amnesia, as well as mentions of death and implied suicide. stay safe and happy reading!

###  _Here, where the world is quiet;  
Here, where all trouble seems;  
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot  
In doubtful dreams of dreams.  
I watch the green field growing  
For reaping folk and sowing,  
For harvest-time and mowing,  
A sleepy world of streams._

_-[Algernon Charles Swinburne, Poems and ballads (1866)](https://archive.org/stream/poemsballads00swinrich#page/196/mode/2up)_

* * *

In most cultures, water was a source of life. This made Hades’ rivers a bit of a conundrum. Why have a source of life in the land of the dead? 

Of course, that was a misunderstanding. _Graveyards_ were the land of the dead. Hades was where the souls living in those bodies went. After all, a _spring_ goddess co-ruled Hades.

Five rivers ran through it, one to cross, one to drink from, and the rest to hope to never see. It was an infinite space filled with a finite amount of souls, all reincarnating over and over. There were never really new souls, only old ones forgetting what they used to be or becoming something new altogether.

She tried to be more hands-on with her work because she preferred it. It wasn’t always hanging back while Charon ferried the souls in by the dozens and left them to get sorted by some other goon. Paperwork wasn’t her thing, and as much as she loved Cerberus, she can only hang out around him for so long.

And well, sometimes some other goon _wasn’t_ there and sometimes that meant that she had to deal with cases like these.

“Y-you don’t understand, I have to go back!”

She looked at them. “Listen, pal, you really can’t. Your body’s gone. It’s decomposing back on whatever backwater planet or asteroid you came from and you can’t go back to it,” she explained. “Don’t you remember? You’ve been here before.”

It wasn’t any speech she hadn’t already given before. She used to hate how crass it sounded but millennia of hands-on work eventually gave her the mental fortitude for it.

And time had long since worn down her nerves.

Whoever said and believed that dying was the easy part was a little ungrateful to the people who had to clean up after them. But what did she know? She was just the other god ruling over the underworld.

Vespa sighed as she kept her hand on their shoulder. They weren’t resisting, but her hand was the only thing between this soul’s reincarnation and their permanent death. “I know it’s rough,” she lied. “But you should just _move on_.”

They nodded, choking down sobs the best they could as they knelt down and sat on the black shore. “Just, just give me a moment, ma’am. These memories… they’re a lot.”

Vespa rolled her eyes at their little meek act. “If you’re still gonna swim off, it’s just going to kill you. Do what you want.”

They shook their head. “I won’t, thank you.”

She shrugged unimpressed and unconvinced as she sat down beside them. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Vespa sat back on the black sands beside them, listening to the rasp of the waves on the shore.

If she closed her eyes, she could remember her first few years in Hades. She’d loved sitting by isolated parts of the Lethe and the Styx when she needed to relax. She could always pretend she’d just been snoozing off on some lakeshore near the gardens. It made her homesick in a stupid sense that she hated being home but she wanted to be, back then. Back before she and Buddy were ever really a thing.

She took a deep breath and sighted Charon’s oar in the distance, rowing across the river to the other side.

“You know what I’d give anything to come back to the surface for?” she asked.

She didn’t expect an answer. Shades, if lucid enough to have any rational thought, fresh off Charon’s boat, didn’t take long before they realized they were talking to a god. To her surprise, they did anyway. “What?”

She looked at their face—or what used to be their face, she couldn’t tell. Without a body, there wasn’t much to look at with souls, and if they did retain their shape, they compensated with personality.

“The sky,” she said, looking down at the sands instead. She dug her boot heel in deep and pulled it out, the motion keeping her from standing up and pacing. “Wherever I go, it’s the one thing that’s always the same.”

“Really?”

Vespa nodded. “Forgotten already?”

“I… No. Or, yes? I don’t know. I died before I saw any sky at all, or maybe I haven’t seen the sky in a long time and just died in bed, or at home, by myself—”

“Don’t spiral on me, pal.”

“Sorry.”

Vespa waved her hand dismissively. “Happens to the best of us.”

The shore shushed at them as they sat there in silence.

Vespa could feel a tingle at her fingertips, the kind she never usually had that far Below. She used to do this a long time ago, give souls and shades hope, think they’ll be friends that will come back again and again. Give them gifts and little reminders of humanity by simply via simple illusion or actual contraband spring.

She didn’t know why or when she stopped. It just felt wrong to keep going.

Nevertheless, the tingling stayed until she couldn’t hold it anymore. “I could show you,” she said. “I still remember.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Don’t worry about that too much.” She stood up and turned. “Follow me and _don’t_ get lost.”

When she looked up, she froze.

He was just standing there, watching her. He still had his face, still had all the mannerisms that still made him _him_.

Vespa wondered what kind of deal Buddy struck with him, what kind of sick consolation she gave him for being hospitable with Vespa or whatever. It made her gut churn.

“Steel,” she said. She was never really one for greetings and she knew neither was he. “You coming too?”

Juno shrugged. “I got nothing better to do.”

She walked past him, not looking to see if the other soul was following. “You been eavesdropping this whole time?”

“You’re in public. Anyone could hear you,” he retorted.

“You listen to everyone’s conversations in public then?”

Juno didn’t reply.

The path to her garden was cobbled and littered with little gemstones. She kicked a few of them as she walked past.

“So, Bud hasn’t given you a job.”

Juno made a noise that was halfway between _I don’t know_ and _not really_.

Vespa turned to look at him, confusion furrowing her brow. “Did you _not_ read your papers before you signed them? She could have given you a shitty job.”

Juno gave her an aggrieved sigh. “It’s been a _really_ long day for me, okay? And I trust her.”

“Lot of faith to put on someone you met for barely an hour.”

“I think Buddy and I crossed that line when I lived with her wife for a few months.”

Vespa rolled her eyes and turned to look where she was going before she tripped and fell or something. “Just don’t come crying to me when you get a shitty job before your time off.”

Juno didn’t dignify that with a response, which was fine with Vespa, really.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Juno.

...

Okay, it wasn’t _just_ that she didn’t like Juno. She’d already gotten him killed, and she _knew_ his soul. There were a few mortal souls she knew personally, two of them she regularly doomed.

It was either Buddy knew or she was too desperate for something new and exciting to even notice that she was doing it again. Vespa didn’t want this to be another—

“So, where are we going?”

Vespa glared at him. “Do you _ever_ shut up?”

“I did, just now.”

Vespa took a few deep breaths and kept her hands clenched to her side.

“Hey, what’s your deal?”

“Steel…”

Juno shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No, I’m serious. It’s like you’ve had it out for me since I got here. You were nicer back in—”

“Back when you were still _alive_? Sure,” Vespa cut in, hoping that he’d get the point and drop it. 

He seemed to get the picture when he didn’t reply. There were still a few minutes away from her garden, Buddy’s only blindspot in the whole place.

Infuriatingly, Juno didn’t stay quiet for long. “Was he _right_?”

“Who?”

“Is there really trouble in paradise?”

Vespa stopped and turned to glare down at him. “The hell did you just say.”

Juno’s eye batted between each of hers, reading her face for something. “Oh god, he _was_. Wait,” he laughed, “do you think Buddy picked me up or something?”

Vespa rolled her eyes and continued on, not looking to see if the shade or Juno were following. She could _hear_ him still following though, that breathy laughter that used to make Vespa smile when they were just goofing around in Jet’s little pub on Mars now grating on her nerves.

“Vespa—”

“We’re here,” she announced over him. The door sensors glowed as she passed through, opening up the greenhouse.

It was a misshapen thing, like a tumor sticking out of the far cavern walls of Hades. The greenhouse was a ways away from Buddy’s central office building, full to the brim with plants Vespa has only ever seen glimpses of from memories drifting down the Lethe.

Tall-stalked and various shades of purple, blue, bioluminescent, flowers that bloom upside down from wide frond-like leaves in high up trees. Bushes of roses with impossible colors, and vines netting the ground in a carpet of brown, red, green, and yellow.

Vespa stepped in and ignored the sound of flowers blooming and leaves shaking with her every step. She was here for one reason, and though she loved looking over her plants for spots or pests, she had a mission.

She made her way past trees and shrubs, trying to remember what the shape of the path was, the last time she looked up. 

There, she felt the surge tugging at her. 

Right _there_. 

She stopped and gestured for the two to come closer. “It’s here, come on”

“This isn’t some trick or something, is it?” Juno asked.

“You could just leave, y’know. I don’t really care,” she said, looking up, up, up, straining her neck like a plant to sunlight. 

And there it was, a gap between the greenhouse’s faux ceiling and the cavern walls. A giant crack from where you could see the darkness of space and a glimpse of a star-studded sky.

She raised her hand to point at it. “Over there, look.”

“ _Oh_ ,” gasped the shade, and it was a wondrous sound, one she used to revel in. “Oh, ma’am, that’s—”

Vespa looked at them, at their wide-eyed wonder at the one weakness Hades’ walls had. This single crack used to start riots. It used to make her feel validated in feeling like there was still something missing with her life and with her partner.

Now it just made her feel empty.

_Is there really trouble in paradise?_

Count on Steel to hit the final nail on the coffin.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

When she opened her eyes, the feeling didn’t go away.

With a wave of her hand, she sent the shade back to the queue to Asphodel Meadows.

Juno jumped. “What the hell was that?”

“I just brought them here to show them something, so I sent them back.”

Juno gave her a confused look. “Do you… even know their name?”

Vespa huffed. “You _really_ didn’t listen to anything she told you, didn’t you?”

Juno’s confusion didn’t go away.

It wasn’t her job to tell him. It really wasn’t. She tried to shove down the part of her that said she owed it to him, for messing his life up, for being one of the few decent people she’d known on the surface, even if she didn’t like him that much.

It was a lot to shove down all at once, really.

“When you enter the gates, you’re already signing off a lot,” she explained, clenching her fists in her pockets. “Your name, your identity, your memories. _Before_ you sign off on jobs. If you don’t want that, you reincarnate.”

“But… I already—”

Vespa shook her head, “I don’t want to hear it, Steel. Whatever deal you signed off is between you and Buddy.”

“I… I have to go back,” Juno said.

Vespa snorted. “Do you even remember where?”

Juno stood there, mouth agape. 

The sight of him made Vespa’s gut churn with guilt.

She shook her head and walked past him. “Don’t come looking for me.”

* * *

If you meet resistance, push in the other direction, was his thinking. 

Or… 

Was it? 

He didn’t know. 

Why did Vespa have to say that? 

The more he pushed, the fuzzier it got. 

Where had he come from? He remembered feeling hopeless before he met Buddy. Had he… chosen to come to Hades? To ki— 

His knees gave out and he knelt haphazardly in the middle of the grassy knoll at the base of the tree behind him. He took a deep breath and tried not to gag at the sickly sweet smell of flowers and fruits in the greenhouse. 

He dropped his hands between his legs and grasped at the blades of grass beneath him. He had to hold something, anything. Just to ground him.

 _This_ — No, not the helplessness, not the fear of the unknown hand pulling memories from his head. 

He clenched his fists tighter. 

_This_ : the blades of grass beneath his palm, the smell of soil, and the dim light inside the greenhouse. 

It was all familiar, somehow. 

But… that was wrong, wasn’t it? He’d never been here before.

“Why did Vespa have to say that,” he groaned, raising his hands to his face, trying to pull the familiar back in. He laid down on his back, scrubbing his palms across his face.

Why did Vespa have to tell him he was forgetting things? It was like the moment she pointed it out, the more he noticed the holes and gaps expanding in his memory.

It all felt… novel somehow. But also not? He couldn’t explain it. Did he only know these plants and trees in the greenhouse as concepts? What planet didn’t have any kind of vegetation? He could at least remember a few: Venus, Mercury, Mars.

But what if he lived on an asteroid? Or the Outer Rim? Was that how he lost his eye?

He huffed. It didn’t matter anymore, did it? It wasn’t like knowing what happened to him before would solve anything now. He’d agreed on coming to Hades, _that_ at least he could remember.

Buddy must have given him a deal he couldn’t pass up. He was just… _so tired_ . Whenever he tried to remember anything past the deal, that was all he could think of. Not of why or of whom. Just that he _had_ been, and that he’d wanted it to stop.

At the thought, something in him sang with an aching emotion he couldn’t name. It took him a moment of pawing at his chest for him to realize that it was his heart… It was his heart _missing_ something.

Huh.

That’d never happen before, had it?

He sighed. He wasn’t getting anywhere.

_Deduction 101, Steel. Before you try to figure out what doesn’t make sense, you have to look at what does._

Steel. 

That was one. He knew his name was—is— _was_ Steel. Like maybe seventy percent sure.

He knew he was in the Underworld and that he willingly came here with Buddy.

He knew he wasn’t dead. He held his hands up above him, peeking between the webs between his fingers. He didn’t know for certain how he knew he wasn’t dead when he was in Hades, but a small sense of urgency made itself known as he thought about that.

Was he running out of time? Was he going to die in the land of the dead at some point if he didn’t solve this soon?

He dropped his hands to his sides, looking up at the crack in Hades’ walls, at the barely-there blinking of distant stars. He felt just a hint of deja-vu as he turned to his side.

 _Stay with me?_ He asked. Only, he didn’t.

 _Here? Of course._ Someone answered without hesitation. There was no one in front of him.

Despite the phantom hope-warmth-happiness that filled him at the words, he shook his head. _I mean…_

It faded.

His vision focused. The grass beneath him was still blurry.

What _was_ that?

He… he had been talking to someone.

They had been lying on their sides, on a blanket on the grass in the dark, facing each other, spent and satiated in a thought that made his face heat. Like chasing a dream, he grasped for the fluidity of that memory, struggling to keep it in his hands. He remembered…

The dip of their collarbone, the line of his smudged and stained jaw and neck. The rumble of his voice that made his heart sing again.

He remembered him. 

_Him_? 

But who _was_ he?

He brought his hands to his face and found tears there.

Was he crying?

He took a deep, shaking breath and smelled figs in the air. 

He sat upright, abruptly.

Vertigo hit him. He shut his eye tight against the feeling of the room spinning. And when he opened his eye, he squeezed it shut again.

“ _Shit_ , that’s bright,” he croaked. “The hell…?”

He blinked multiple times, trying to adjust his sight as he curled a bit into himself. When it was more bearable, he uncurled and pushed himself up.

Instead of blades of grass, his hands met something… cool, smooth. 

He looked and saw that it was a metal tabletop. And that he was dressed differently.

He had been dressed differently, right? He couldn’t remember.

His throat was dry, the back of it sour with acid. His movements felt slow and his neck ached.

He looked up and found _him_.

“It’s you,” he croaked.

 _He_ laughed, looking close to tears. “It’s me.”

“Nureyev,” he breathed out. That was _his_ name. Nureyev. 

Peter Nureyev. 

He remembered now.

“Juno…” Nureyev said.

It was a wonder how two syllables felt like a punch in the gut. Juno turned in his seat to stand and held onto the edge of the table. His feet felt uncertain, unused, his legs feeling just a little too unstable.

Juno. He was Juno. He was Juno Steel, born in Hyperion City, on Mars. He’d willingly come to Hades with Buddy Aurinko, Lord of the Underworld.

She took his eye and gave him a red poppy to cover it up with, similar to the one she’d been wearing in her hair a while ago.

“ _This is from Vespa’s garden,_ ” she’d told him, offering up the flower. “ _I’m going to give it to you so you can roam Hades without a body. Your body will be asleep for the most part so that it will deteriorate slower. Is that clear?_ ”

It had been.

… 

But, had it been really, though? Buddy had been his only way in and out of dying from the storm, he didn’t know if he could reject her offer at all.

Juno put his hand to his face and felt nothing but the dampness of drying tears.

He looked around and saw it on the ground, wilted brown instead of fresh vivid red. A poppy. Had it wilted the moment it left his touch? Something about the sight of it made Juno depressed.

Nureyev stepped forward, diverting his attention. 

His hands were hovering on either side of Juno’s coat, like he was unsure whether he should touch Juno or not. 

Juno reached forward to grasp his shirt without a second thought. “You’re here,” he whispered. “It’s too early. You—” He squinted up at Nureyev, solid, his features defined, from the furrow of his brow to the wrinkle by his frown. 

He was alive.

He was in Hades

Despite the relief filling him, Juno asked, “How?”

Nureyev grasped his hands, prying them away from his shirt. “I walked. Then, when I couldn’t walk anymore, I sang. And it led me to you.”

Juno couldn’t think. Instead, his chest ached—his heart, again, at the prospect of Nureyev actively looking for him when he— “Nureyev, I-I’m sorry. I’m so… so sorry, I keep hurting people—”

“ _Hurting people_?” Nureyev asked, taken aback.

Juno lowered his gaze to the space between them. “I’m sorry I left you. I… I _tried_ to call you, I swear—”

“I know.”

He looked up. “You do—?”

“Jet told me,” Nureyev said. When Juno opened his mouth to answer, he sighed, shaking his head. “Well, he gave me his comms and made me listen to your last message because I wouldn’t listen to him. But that’s semantics.”

Juno swallowed, throat dry and uncomfortable. “So…”

“Oh, none of that yet, dear,” Nureyev said with a gesture. 

He stepped back, away from Juno. 

Immediately, the cold took over. 

Juno felt his stomach drop. “Wh—?”

Nureyev turned around and crouched to grab something from the floor.

Juno blinked sluggishly, trying to make his brain process what he was looking at.

That was _his_ backpack, wasn’t it? The one he’d been carrying into Oldtown? He couldn’t catch a proper glimpse of it because suddenly, in his line of sight was Nureyev’s guitar case, strapped onto his back, with a flower tied around the edge of the case.

But, it wasn’t just any flower.

Juno raised a hand to touch it.

It was a paper flower. _His_ paper flower. From when he and Nureyev met.

Juno felt his eye fill with tears. “Damn,” he hissed, dropping his hand and blinking up at the ceiling.

It should have been impossible to cry with how dehydrated he probably was. It should have been impossible for Nureyev to even still like him with how he’d left, what his last words were in that message for Jet, and with no other unselfish justification.

_I knew how this was going to end and I’m tired of…_

Nureyev was in front of him but he felt like he couldn’t— _shouldn’t_ —reach out. 

“What are you doing here,” he asked, voice cracking. He didn’t know if it was from vulnerability or disuse.

Nureyev stood from crouching, holding something Juno couldn’t see and he honestly felt like he didn’t want to know. Nureyev turned…

And it was a jar of preserved figs and a fork.

Juno blinked down at it. 

“What.”

“Eat something,” Nureyev said. “You’re not staying here.”

He glanced from the jar to Nureyev, unsure. “I—”

“The longer you don’t eat, the faster your body dies here, Juno,” was Nureyev’s cold response. “Eat something, I’ll get you some water from the pack, then we’ll talk on the way home.”

Juno felt tears flood out his other eye now. He sniffled, then broke into a sob.

“Oh, dear…” Nureyev pushed the fork and jar into his hands and said, firmly, _“Eat_.”

Juno shoved a fig into his mouth, letting Nureyev maneuver him away from the table and settle down on the floor against the wall. The sweetness of the preserves made his eyes tear up more, but he was suddenly so overtaken with hunger, he didn’t even notice it as he bit into another one.

They were silent as Juno sniffled into his food, Nureyev handing him a bottle of water and looking away as he waited. 

Juno tried not to eat too much too fast, remembering his childhood days of preserving what he could—it was all coming back now, trickling in slowly. 

He sipped at his water. “I didn’t think you’d come after me,” Juno whispered. Their knees were touching, and he relished the warmth there something fierce. “You should have just left Mars, forgot about me. You have a big galaxy out there and Jet to vouch for you. I knew you would but, seeing you now…”

Nureyev looked at him.

Juno felt his heart skip a beat like he was about to do their first kiss under that streetlight all over again. “How are you so confident?”

“In what?”

“If I were you, I would have thought it was my fault you…” He cleared his throat. “I would have thought I wasn’t enough for you to stay.”

“I did,” Nureyev admitted.

Juno shook his head. His expression must have looked ridiculous with how confused he was. “Then you shouldn’t be here—”

“Juno.”

Juno closed his mouth.

Nureyev sighed. “Have you ever been in love before?”

Without thinking he said, “Have _you_?”

Juno opened his mouth, realizing what he’d just said. He was about to apologize when Nureyev laughed, an honest, delighted giggle that made him stop short.

“That’s the Juno I know and…” His eyes met Juno’s, then dropped. He looked away, flustered. “I’ve never been, before you,” he continued. “And I hope you know that I would never have let you leave without a proper explanation.”

Juno snorted. “So, that’s it. You came here because I haven’t told you why I left? I don’t have anything else. It’s just me.”

“ _Just_ you?” Nureyev asked. “So, me staying wasn’t enough to convince you to, is what you’re saying.”

Juno shook his head fervently. “No, I meant—”

“Because you _just_ said that if _I’d_ left, you would have thought the exact same thing. I’ve said over and over that I would _stay_ for you. I would have left _with_ you. If you wanted, everything short sedating me and throwing me into the back of a taxi, you could even have convinced me to leave _for_ you too.”

Juno shut his eye. “I’m not worth that.”

And that, there, was the core of the problem, wasn’t it? 

Nureyev shouldn’t be bringing him home, if he even could. 

Nureyev shouldn’t be fixing Mars, if he even could. 

Nureyev shouldn’t love him, if he even did.

Because Juno wasn’t worth that. Juno wasn’t even worth the time of day from the likes of Nureyev. He was just some washed-out ex-cop who should have died at the end of his mother’s blaster years ago. 

So, what the hell was up with proposing on sight? With moving in? With making love under the stars and telling each other _I love you_? It was all going to end someday and Juno was going to be alone, waiting to die in Oldtown. So, he planned ahead.

“Juno.”

Juno opened his eye and fiddled with his bottle of water, head bowed.

“ _Look at me_.”

Juno looked at him.

Nureyev was close, they were nearly nose to nose. This close, Juno could see the rings under his eyes, the pale brown of his skin without makeup, and something on his cheeks that may have been tear tracks and mud.

Juno was etching all of these details into memory, in case he forgot them again next time. He was so busy doing this, he almost didn’t catch Nureyev saying, “You don’t get to say how much I think you’re worth, Juno Steel, and you don’t get to make decisions for me.”

“I—”

“I _wouldn’t_ have left you,” Nureyev said, and his voice was starting to quiver a bit. “Do you know how alone I’ve been since— Could I have even stopped you, had I been there?”

Juno swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Nureyev took a shaky breath, looking away.

Juno put another fig in his mouth.

“Do you even want to come home with me?”

“I do,” Juno answered, without hesitation. “I… I love you, alright?”

Nureyev laughed, then sniffled. “Must be a custom on Mars, then,” he quipped. “To leave and say _I love you._ ”

“I said I was sorry,” Juno muttered, letting himself smile.

Nureyev turned to him, tears wiped stubbornly away, eyes puffy. “Well, I’m not going back alone.”

“Are you always this confident?” Juno asked.

“When I look at you, I am,” Nureyev answered. He reached up, cupping a warm hand against Juno’s cheek. 

Juno leaned his head against it. “Then I probably shouldn’t leave your sight.”

“Never again,” Nureyev said.

Juno laughed, sniffling a bit, and when Nureyev caught the rest of his relieved laughter with chapped lips, he found that even with his memories back, kissing Nureyev still felt as novel and freeing as if it was the first time all over again.

“Sweet,” Nureyev said, making Juno laugh.

“You already used that pickup line.”

Nureyev only smiled, looking at him with wonder and awe and some other mushy emotion that made Juno feel like he could do anything.

All he really wanted to do was earn Nureyev’s trust back.

Nureyev pulled away and said, “Let me ask you right now, I swear—”

Juno sighed. “What?”

“Marry m—”

“Nureyev…”

Nureyev shook his head, leaning away from him. “Give me _one_ good reason you won’t say yes right this moment.”

Juno took his hands between his own. “I… Well, you— I messed up. Alright? I want to _earn_ what you’re giving me here. I want to mess up less. I’d want to change the world for you too, but I’m just _me_. And, promise as much as you want, but you’re just you too. We’re no gods, the galaxy is never going to bend to whatever we want. This War’s going to keep going probably till after we both die. Mars is never going to get Spring back. And I…”

He squeezed Nureyev’s hands. “I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Buddy and I—”

A door— the _only_ door in the room— slid open. Juno and Nureyev jumped apart at the sound of it, _and_ at the deep voice that said, “Well, what do we have here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a cliffhanger? right after my hiatus break? more likely than you think. it's so funny to me that i'm updating this hadestown au fic at the height of supergiant hades hype but whatever gets traction, right? kjsdf
> 
> so, fun facts!  
> \- that verse at the start is from The Garden of Proserpine from Poems and ballads by Algernon Charles Swinburne. It basically propagated the myth of Persephone's garden in Hades. In a later verse, there's a mention of nothing blooming there but poppies. Obviously, since I was just building off of fanfiction too, I took some liberties for Vespa's garden.  
> \- I hadn't listened to Shadows on the Ship until after my hiatus started, so this is actually the first time I'm writing Vespa with a fresh perspective.


	7. take the music and the memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, that just doesn’t make any sense. You wanna leave for somewhere but you don’t know where it is?”
> 
> Nureyev shrugged. “That’s just mortal life. Try to find somewhere you feel like you belong and stay there for as long as it has you.”
> 
> “Have you found somethin’ since then?”
> 
> “He left me. So all I can do is look for something else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for mentions of death, implied suicidal ideation, and a bit of alcohol

“Oh, if it isn’t the Lord of the Underworld herself!” Nureyev laughed, audibly nervous as he scrambled to his feet, fixing his hair and clothing before helping Juno to his feet. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Buddy Aurinko was a sight to behold in her domain. She had her red hair pulled away from her face, and a flower that looked similar to what had been laying on Juno’s eye when he came in. All her mysterious regality in the old subway tunnel amplified and Nureyev could feel it in his joints from where he stood like an oncoming storm.

“That would be my question to ask, thief,” she said, tone smug like the cat who got the cream.

He blinked in mock offense, hand to his chest. “ _Thief?_ Why I never—”

Buddy laughed, silencing him in an instant. “Well, do you mind explaining what you’re doing inside my _treasury_ when you’re not even supposed to be in my _domain_?”

“Well,” Nureyev stammered. “I—I’m sure we can handle this civilly—”

“He’s just visiting,” Juno lied, almost smoothly if it weren’t for the quiver in his voice. “Buddy, he’s—”

“I most certainly am _not,_ ” he countered with a sidelong glance at a sheepish Juno. “I’d appreciate it if you let me speak for myself, dear.” He turned to Buddy again. “I’m sure you and Juno came to an agreement of sorts, but I really _should_ take him home before he can’t anymore.”

Buddy raised a brow at him. “That’s a lot of speaking for Juno you’re doing than for yourself there, darling.”

Nureyev scoffed, “Well, he’s told me enough already. Should we file a formal complaint? Be back with us in three to five business days?”

Buddy held her hand up. Nureyev glanced down at Juno to see that _he’d_ been about to speak. “I just want to ask what he said specifically, Ransom. Or would you prefer it if I called you Nureyev?”

Nureyev only raised a brow at her.

“Attitude, mister,” she chastised. “What did Juno say? And be precise.”

“I asked him if he wanted to come home with me and he said yes,” Nureyev answered.

Juno hissed as if burned by something.

Buddy chuckled. “ _Wanted to_ and _could_ are two different things, darling. You can _want to_ love someone so much that it hurts but it all depends on whether you even _can_. Juno here had a few things to say about our little agreement before I found you two in my treasury room and planning an escape like a bunch of prisoners.” She looked at Juno, “Would you like to do the honors or shall I?”

“Okay, that isn’t fair,” Juno said, squaring up imperceptibly. It was barely a shade of Juno’s usual indignance and pigheadedness, but it was enough to reassure Nureyev. “I was barely in any state to agree with you on _anything—_ ”

“Yet, you did.”

“— _And_. And you told me that if I gave you my eye, I wouldn’t die.”

Nureyev took a step back and looked between them, incredulous. His… eye? How? Why?

Buddy was unimpressed by his bravado and Nureyev’s confusion. “I said you’d have access to Hades without dying, yes. But not that I’d guarantee any return to the surface. You’re _mortal_ , Juno, and all mortals in Hades are dead. We agreed that you weren’t going to survive waiting if that storm was even going to pass. You were going to die anyway, so coming to Hades ahead of time was mostly to prevent any further pain. And you’ve already signed for a job, remember? You’re here to stay.”

Nureyev hissed, “You _what_?”

Juno’s gaze dropped to the floor, shoulders tense.

Nureyev could bring Juno back, no harm no foul because apparently, he wasn’t completely dead yet. But signing a deal to work in Hades?

Buddy interrupted his train of thought, pulling his attention away from Juno. “He’s not the only one to blame here, Pete. Can I call you Pete? It’s the one common thing, I don’t see why not.”

Nureyev raised a brow at her. “Are you insinuating something?”

“Buddy—” was Juno’s weak protest.

“Well,” Buddy shrugged and waved her hand dismissively, “I’m sure Juno had reasons to leave Hyperion City. That’s how most decisions are made, darlings.”

“Alright, that’s out of line!” Juno snapped. He stepped forward, standing between them. 

When Nureyev looked, the only thing he could see on Buddy’s face was amusement and he couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit infuriated in Juno’s stead. 

Juno continued, “Buddy, you told me I could come to Hades but you never told me I couldn’t leave. The contract, we can talk about later but right now, my issue is that you’re trying to make yourself innocent when it was _your_ idea that I come here, to begin with.”

Nureyev nodded, gesturing to Juno.

“Oh, are you suggesting I could have done something else?”

“Call Jet,” Nureyev offered. “Or, you know, bring him home yourself. You’re both gods.”

Juno looked at him, then at Buddy. “Yeah, what he said.”

Buddy chuckled, “Juno, I can’t read minds.”

“You can! You literally did! Vespa does, Jet does! You do too! Stop lying.”

Buddy rolled her eye, shifting her weight to the other foot. “I can _know_ things about your past, darling, I _am_ a god. But past that, I can only read your intentions and emotions. You had no desire to leave Hades the moment you got here, and you made your decision so firmly in that tunnel I was convinced you never even wanted to come back. Whatever got into your pretty little head wasn’t me. Having Ransom here definitely does not help you either. I only did what you wanted to do.”

Juno clenched his fists but did not say anything in return.

“Juno,” Nureyev said. Despite his trust and the talk they’d just had and the hope that he could still salvage this, he could feel the doubt and anger rising in his chest as Juno stood there like all the fight had gone out of him. “Juno, that’s not true.”

Juno glanced at him, fearful and helpless. He didn’t say anything. But as tears filled his eye, that same bright eye that made him feel like he wasn’t alone for once, it was enough of an answer to him.

Nureyev had wanted to grab his hand and drag him out of hell. At that moment, he just wanted to leave.

“What’s goin’ on in here?” A voice asked from the door.

Nureyev hadn’t even noticed it open. 

Stood at the doorway was Vespa, dressed appropriately for humid and hot Hades, practically gawking at the scene before her. Well, as opposed to her usual impassive and vaguely unimpressed demeanor, she was gawking anyway. 

In front of her was… Nureyev didn’t know who she was, but she was small and seemed a little too friendly to be someone from the roster of gods and monsters Nureyev knew lived in the Underworld. She beamed when she spotted Juno, waving enthusiastically. “Oh, hiya, Mista Steel!”

“Bud…” Vespa said, reaching for her wife. “Don’t do this. Buddy, we need to talk—”

“Rita dear, please escort this thief out of my domain and get Juno to his work station,” Buddy said, turning to leave the room. 

Rita jumped at this. “Oka—Oh! Yes, Ma’am, Lord Aurinko, sir. Right away! See ya!”

Buddy walked past Vespa, who could only look between her and the scene inside the treasury with some measure of guilt Nureyev didn’t know she could even have.

Then, she left too.

Nureyev couldn’t think about that expression for too long because suddenly, whatever Rita was, she was flying right in front of his face, feathered wings behind her flapping earnestly. “Hi! I’m Rrrita! I’m here to come get you outta hell,” she said. “What’s your name again? I didn’t really catch it.”

Nureyev blinked at her, “Uh, just call me Ransom.”

Rita hummed, then got back onto her feet, which forced Nureyev to crane his neck to look at her. She turned and started hobbling for the door. “Alright then! Nice to meet ya, Mista Ransom. If you two could just follow little ol’ me, don’t get lost now.”

Nureyev lagged back as Juno started following her.

She noticed this then turned, holding her hands up to stop Juno in his tracks. “No, Mista Steel, you gotta get back on the table!”

“What?”

“You can’t have a body while you’re workin’, Boss, your skin’s gonna burn clean off and you ain’t want that, not with how nice and dark your complexion is. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a good ol’ fashion sun-kissed look… Well. Go on, then.”

“But…” Juno gestured to his missing eye, then towards the flower Nureyev had found on him when he’d broken into that treasury room. It had been unnaturally red, almost glowing, and it had been laying on Juno’s eye like an eye patch. “I can’t—”

“Oh, right! Just a sec.”

There was a gust of wind that had Nureyev shielding his face and when he looked again, Rita was dangling a flower with her fingernails (claws?), almost the same one Nureyev had dusted off of Juno with a glove.

“Just lay yourself down and you’ll be dreamin’ in a moment, Mista Steel, there ya go,” she said as Juno got back onto the metal table. There was a look of apprehension on his face, an almost imploring sheepishness that made Nureyev look away.

“I’ll go ahead,” Nureyev said, grabbing his bags. “I’m sure you can find me, Miss Rita.”

“Of course, Mista Ransom, we won’t take long. Don’t wander off!”

* * *

Buddy hadn’t even taken a seat before someone knocked on her door.

“Come in, darling,” she said, settling down into the cushioned office chair. Because only one person would even dare knock on her door when Rita wasn’t there.

The door slid open.

Vespa slumped in. She didn’t say a word, didn’t even greet Buddy. Just made a beeline for the liquor cabinet.

“Oh, _please_ , pour me something, thank you.” Buddy groaned, sounding almost parched, impossible though it was. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Vespa didn’t speak. She grabbed a glass and filled it with wine. She crossed the room and set it down pettily in the middle of Buddy’s paperwork.

Buddy grabbed it and halved it before starting in on her work.

“Why are you doing this?” Vespa asked, walking towards the glass to the balcony overlooking Hades.

Doing… her paperwork? She checked her watch. Day drinking? Ruling over the underworld? “What?”

“You know what,” Vespa responded. She didn’t say much apart from that.

Buddy sighed. “This feels awfully like deja vu, Vespa dear. I do hope you learn to be less cryptic when you’re angry.”

Just a crack of a smile, Vespa, she pleaded to no one in particular. A small one. I need it.

Instead, Vespa continued looking out of the window, as if the underworld was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen before. “I thought we agreed not to do this again. You don’t even have a reason this time.”

“To what?”

Vespa turned slowly, almost still in her movements. 

If Buddy closed the wrong eye, she could almost imagine they were back in that garden. They’d be standing under the sunlight, and Vespa would reach out and say…

“To keep him here.”

Buddy took a moment to blink away the memory, downing the rest of her drink with a bitter smile. “You mean Juno? Darling, I collected him. He signed the contract and everything.” She flicked the file into her hand and waved it at her. “Signed and sworn.”

“He’s not _dead_ ,” Vespa pointed out with a growl, finally pushing away from the window. “And you know he used to be _her_. It’s so obvious. You’re not that stupid, Bud. The poet lover, the bond with Jet? Nureyev’s going to be out there turning this all on you all over again. He’s going to make you _cry_. Make you realize— How many times are we doing this? How long do we have to keep going?”

Buddy flicked the file back into storage and got to her feet to pour herself another glass. “Make me realize what?”

She grabbed another glass and offered it to Vespa.

“No, I’ve had enough,” Vespa said. 

Buddy tried not to read too deep into it.

* * *

“ _People turn on you just like the wind, everybody is a fair-weather friend_ …”

“That’s a cool song, Mista Ransom.”

Nureyev jolted and nearly let his guitar slip from his hands. Rita was hovering right behind him when he deigned it safe enough to look.

“I didn’t know you could play,” Rita said, sitting down beside him. “Did you make that song just now? _I’m_ a weather friend.” She gasped. “Was that about me? Aw, Mista Ransom, you shouldn’t have!”

Nureyev blinked, then cleared his throat. “Did you finish up with Juno?”

Rita paused then got to her feet. “Yeah, yeah, but we ain’t in any hurry, I dunno what’s so wrong about just stayin’ here for a while. I mean, it’s pretty peaceful down here plus I don’t think you kinda wanna leave just yet considerin’ it’ll be wrong to just leave Mista Steel like that—not like that’s any of my business. I just think that it’d be great if we just sit’ ere and think about what just happened back there, hm? It’d be like fun exercise—”

Nureyev watched her slowly sit down beside him as she rambled. “Miss Rita.”

“Oh!” Rita laughed, waving her hand at him like he’d just made a joke. “Only to my _mother_ , Mista Ransom, and you ain’t wanna meet her— Just call me Rita.”

He took a deep breath. Juno had less patience than he did. He wondered how he fared around her.

He wondered why he was still thinking about him.

“Rita, then,” he settled amicably. “What are you talking about?”

Almost impossibly, Rita just looked at him and… _emitted_ disappointment without changing a single thing about her expression.

“Mista Ransom.”

Nureyev swallowed, suddenly feeling his throat dry. “Yes?”

“You’re playin’ dumb.”

“Wh—”

“I don’t wanna get all up in your business,” she said, raising a hand (claw?). “But I just think that if I had the chance to mend things with someone who I know I’m never gonna see again? I’d just go for it.”

Nureyev scoffed. “Well, what’s the point in that? It’s as you said: we’re _never_ going to see each other again. It’s a waste of time and breath, time and breath I could be using getting out of here and living my life as he so _willingly_ threw his away without a second thought for me being in it.”

Rita hummed. “I mean I getcha but I don’t think that’s what you _want_.”

Nureyev stood and grabbed his bag. “Forget it, I’m getting out of here myself.”

“What—hey!”

“I have no quarrel with you,” Nureyev threw over his shoulder. “But I’m tired of people telling me what I want.”

A gust of wind and Rita’s in front of him. He paused, squinting at her, then sidestepped. She gawked. “Excuse me! That is _rude_!”

“ _You’re_ the one in my face, Miss Rita. And you’re supposed to be getting me out, not keeping me here.”

“Well, what _do you_ want?!”

“To leave!”

“Alone?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Nureyev roared, turning back around to face her. 

“It doesn’t matter what I _want_. I wanted to change the world for him. I wanted to be enough for him to just be happy. Well? Look at what’s happened!” He gestured wide, almost swiping at Rita if she hadn’t stepped back. “We’re in _hell_ , he’s never going to come back if he even wants to, and I’m a—” His throat constricted at that moment. He didn’t dare continue, just squeezed his eyes shut, and took a few shaky calming breaths. He opened his eyes and shook his head.

“Just. There is no point. Buddy is never going to listen. I just want to leave. Can I at least have _that_ , if that’s all I’m being given? Or is that too much? What else do you want to take away from me?”

“Nothin’. I just asked what you wanted and you keep saying that you want to just leave but you know that ain’t what I meant,” Rita said, unimpressed with his ire. 

* * *

Vespa took a seat at the edge of her desk. 

Buddy didn’t move from the liquor cabinet. She couldn’t really. She felt, impossibly, pinned down at the sight of Vespa _not_ looking at her. She didn’t know how to feel about that, really. 

Here she was, orbiting her wife’s every move, and despite wanting to shut out every word tumbling out of Vespa’s mouth, she fumbled to catch them still. “They kind of remind me of us,” Vespa said, voice quiet, vulnerable.

Buddy took sips of her drink this time. “Let’s agree to disagree,” she lied. “I’m nothing like Juno.”

Vespa laughed and she fell quiet, rapt with attention. “Right. It’s just that you kind of remind me of Nureyev instead.”

Buddy put a hand on her chest, “I take offense to that.”

Vespa looked at her then, smile lingering. “You don’t know what he’s done for Steel. What I’ve seen him become when they’re together. Remember their old lives? You know how he got here, both in this life and all the ones that came before, just to get his lover back.”

It’s Buddy’s turn to avert her gaze, stirring the wine inside the glass. “I do. That’s why I took offense, darling. We’ve agreed that I would never leash you to me. He, on the other hand… How long have we been married?”

“Older than time itself,” Vespa answered by rote, a little bemused.

Buddy bit her lip to keep from wincing. “How long do you have to keep pretending you want to stay with me?”

Silence took over her office. She turned, aiming for the bottle again, though her glass was full. She couldn’t stand seeing the look on Vespa’s face no matter how much she felt like she needed to see her all the time just to feel safe. Because if she turned away, none of her tears would have been shed. If she turned away, none of her sobs would have been stifled. She wasn’t crying as long as Vespa didn’t say anything about it.

Suddenly, there was a hand by her elbow, just hovering, not touching. Careful. Gentle. Like she had fault lines spanning her entire being and one wrong move could lead to her crumbling apart.

“Buddy,” Vespa said.

“Don’t look,” Buddy whispered, turning away from her.

“Wh—C’mon, Bud, I won’t make fun of you.”

“You have and you will,” she countered stubbornly.

Vespa sighed, defeated. “Fine. Don’t look at me. But listen, alright?”

Buddy, pitifully, sniffled. 

“How many fights have we been through?”

“A couple hundred thousand but who’s counting,” she muttered.

There’s shuffling, Vespa shrugging no doubt. “And when have I ever given you the impression of wanting to leave?”

“A lot.”

“Have I ever left for more than I have to?”

At this Buddy turned to look at her. “But don’t you ever get _tired_?”

Vespa gazed into her eye and Buddy felt herself soften despite the concern in her wife’s eyes. “Of you? No.”

Buddy looked at the ceiling of her office and tried to blink the tears back into her eye. She pretended that there wasn’t a weight somehow still on her shoulders despite feeling afloat at Vespa’s words. “You’re making my makeup run.”

Vespa snorted. “Want help wiping it off?”

“No. Never mind. So, about those two?”

“I think I understand why you brought Steel here with you,” she said. “What I don’t get is why you won’t let them leave.”

“And why _did_ I bring Juno here?” Buddy challenged, not quite ready to admit why she was so adamant about this. Mostly because she herself didn’t know why. Blame it on the Fates or the sheer irrationality of fallible godly traits, it didn’t change her decision.

“You want me to say it?”

“I did ask.”

“You think I’ll grow tired of you and leave,” Vespa said as if she wasn’t voicing Buddy’s deepest insecurities. “Again, we’ve been married since _before time_. I’m not just gonna up and leave, Bud. You’re too important to me.”

“Flatterer,” Buddy muttered, mostly just at a loss for words. She usually was, with Vespa. Often it felt like she didn’t need them around her, like Vespa just understood her. But right now… there was a rift between them that rendered even a raised voice useless against the roaring wind. 

_I don’t feel that important._

_You could be lying._

_Some days, I feel like I don’t know you anymore._

_What happened to us?_

“You never wanna talk about it,” Vespa said. For a moment, Buddy wondered if she’d said that last thought out loud. “It’s like you feel like bringing it up will throw me off, make me realize that we’ve had a falling out already and I need to sever whatever ties I have with you. It doesn’t make sense, Buddy.”

“And what about _you_? You can’t just make this about me.”

Vespa sighed. “I love you. I would do _anything_ for you,” she admitted. “I’ll kill someone if that’s what it takes. But I need you too. And when you get it into your head that I’m gonna leave you just because you think you need me too much, you leave me out to dry and run yourself ragged instead. Let me _help_ , that’s all I want to do.”

In a small voice, Buddy admitted, “I don’t know how.”

“Well, you can start by letting them go,” Vespa said, then she pulled away from Buddy. She turned, heading for the door.

Buddy hated the way she asked, voice shaky and desperate to push the words out as fast as she could: “Where are you going?”

“Getting them before Ransom leaves.”

* * *

“Do you even know what wantin’ is?”

Nureyev scoffed, thinking of the child he never was in the slums of Brahma thinking of achieving things bigger than he ever was. Did he even know what wanting was? What was it if not the ugly green thing in him reminding him that he could never have everything but continued to yearn for something? “Of course I know what it is.”

“Well, I just haven’t heard you say, is all,” she said, hovering over him. “You’ve been sayin’ all these things about wantin’ to change the world for Mista Steel and bein’ enough for ‘im, but that’s not _about_ you. That’s what I wanna know. What does Mista Ransom want? Even if there’s no point, even if it doesn’t make sense.”

With a sigh, he trudged back to the spot he’d been sitting in and slid down against the wall.

They were on top of a wall. It’d been the first thing Nureyev beelined to after leaving the building to Buddy’s office, a large lighthouse in the middle of Hades, like a panopticon overlooking its prisoners. He tried to keep his comparisons to himself. At least the lighthouse didn’t shoot people dead in the streets, right?

But that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

In the file cabinet of all the thoughts he’d folded away to think about later, that was the thickest folder in there.

Brahma. 

The slums. 

New Kinshasa. 

The Guardian Angel System.

Mag Ransom.

 _Home_.

“I just want to go home,” he said.

“Where’s that?”

“Nowhere. I don’t have one,” he answered, because that was the truth. “I gave it away to become _this_.”

Rita’s nose scrunched with the force of her confusion. “Well, that just doesn’t make any sense. You wanna leave for somewhere but you don’t know where it is?”

Nureyev shrugged. “That’s just mortal life. Try to find somewhere you feel like you belong and stay there for as long as it has you.”

“Have you found somethin’ since then?”

“He left me. So all I can do is look for something else.”

And for the first time since they met, Rita was quiet.

It didn’t take long for her to start talking again though. “Y’know, Mista Ransom. I think you’re still holdin’ somethin’ back.”

Nureyev stifled a groan. “I don’t have anything else.”

“Really? Nothin’ that could maybe... convince Lord A to give you a chance?” She gestured to his guitar.

“You want me to sing to her?”

Rita shrugged. “What’ve you got to lose?”

Nothing. 

"Everything," he said. "I could die down here, Rita. And where I'm from, fighting for what you want could get you _killed_."

But he did have his home to gain if he won. Or a chance to rebuild it on whatever crumbs of the foundation was left.

Rita snorted. "Lord A ain't gonna kill you if you sing to her."

"You have no idea what song I have for her," Nureyev said. "I could _very much_ get killed if I wrote this wrong."

"Aw p'shaw... that's nothin'! If you do manage to _really_ make her angry, she might force you to live forever under the threat of punishment instead of death, but a little song about her ain't gonna do that! It's gotta be like- like..."

"Like trying to kidnap her wife?"

"Yeah! Exactly! Or pissin' off the other gods. Y'know how it is."

Nureyev sighed, defeated. "If she sets me up for failure, you're responsible for me."

“Aw, you don't _have_ to,” she cooed. “You just could! It was a suggestion, Mista Ransom. I could still take you back up.”

Nureyev huffed. “No, my mind’s made up. You've swayed me to your argument.” He moved to stand.

The first thing he expected to see when he turned the corner were legions of the shades and souls Buddy had commanded to force him out if ever he decided not to leave for good. Have them toss him into Tartarus never to be seen or heard from again.

The last thing he expected to see was _him_.

Translucent. 

Thousand-yard stare from the eye not covered with a patch. 

Mouth open as if to say something. 

Hand up as though to reach out.

His eye met Nureyev’s and he took a step back as coming back into himself.

This wasn’t the Juno Steel Nureyev knew. This was all that was going to be left in his memory if he didn’t _fix it_.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

“I…”

“Did you hear everything?”

Juno averted his gaze. “... Yes.”

“Good,” Nureyev said firmly. He didn’t grab Juno’s hand, afraid of his hand phasing through, but his words were enough to get Juno to look at him again, startled. “Because I am breaking you out of here even if it kills me.”

Juno’s brows furrowed, no doubt about to protest. Nureyev gripped the strap to his guitar case and shook his head. “I'm afraid you can’t talk me out of it, dear. It turns out, I can be stubborn too.”

Impossibly, Juno... smiled.

Maybe this was going to be okay after all.

“Oh, good, you’re all together.”

Juno yelped, turning around.

Behind him was Vespa, who looked as if she was feeling her age. She ran a hand through her hair. “Come on, we all need to talk over a stiff drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's right! we are 3 chapters from finishing! i hope i can wrap this up properly for y'all
> 
> now, onto the fun facts:  
> \- as is implied by this chapter's title and a bunch of jupeter scenes from acts 1 & 2, this fic is actually mix of the [ny workshop hadestown](https://open.spotify.com/album/5aNyKdMPAPihA6n5BXTkLX?si=4BDzzlI3RvmHWzq_GeNhkA) and [broadway hadestown](https://open.spotify.com/album/1J1yxODbNlqKbwRqJxYJUP?si=_znMulTlSy6Red5qACW9ng). with the old version's lyrics and individual song themes mixed into the perspectives i've written. spot any references? i'd be thrilled to know you've found them!  
> \- to match that fact, because this chapter was really mostly dialogues, here's another one about themes: i've consistently given nureyev _eurydice's_ lines to reference despite him being this story's orpheus. how you interpret that is ultimately up to you. i am actually curious of what y'all think about it ksjdfhdskjd
> 
> anyway that's it for this week. see y'all next thursday!


	8. work for idle hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And if it doesn’t work?” Nureyev asked. “I’m not a god, remember? I can’t change the world.”
> 
> “Well, good thing it’s not the world you’re changing,” Juno reassured. “Just Buddy’s mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no content warnings for this chapter, that i could think of. instead i'm here to thank [jeannette](https://twitter.com/entropyre), [sameer](https://twitter.com/mangocltrus), and [clover](https://twitter.com/deityhearted) for cheering me on while i was writing this.

Entrances to Hades were usually around water, she found eventually. 

When they met, Vespa had been on a flowery hill overlooking a river. On the other side of the stream was _her_ , with her fiery cloud of hair billowing in the wind, blinking up with wide eyes like _she_ was the breathtaking one.

Lord Hades, in her black floor-length chiton and skin that shone in the daylight like water off a rock, knocked the breath out of her chest and planted a seed in there.

And the thing was that the god that Vespa once was was cordial, adventurous, and carefree. She had a lot of love to give, to the nymphs in the gardens, to the garden itself, and to the people who worshipped her.

 _That_ was the person Lord Hades met. Sweet and happy Persephone in the gardens, waving her over so they could properly meet.

Lord Hades had declined, of course, but Persephone, insistent, sat at the rocky shore of the other side of the river and talked to her over the burbling rush of the current.

By their fourth meeting, Persephone had found a way to skip over the rocks without slipping, which had startled Hades at first. Persephone found that her smile was just as beautiful up close as it was from a few feet away, and she’d said as much, which also startled Hades.

By their seventh, Hades finally came out of her shell and, well. It wasn’t like she wasn’t already hooked, right?

Time dulls everything, of course, even the gods. So Vespa couldn’t remember how many meetings it took until one of them broke and they’d ended up messing around in a field for the first time. 

But she’d never forget how it felt with the grass beneath her, how stunning Buddy was with a halo of fire as she straddled Vespa and pinned her down. She never forgot the gentle hum of her voice, singing a song so gentle yet full, it made the seed in her chest bloom into something beautiful.

And round and round it went. Persephone waits, Hades visits, they talk, they kiss, they fool around in the gardens, and they part ways at the end of the day.

That was until—

"Darling?"

Hades was always a bit blinded when she came uptop. In those days, the underworld was a dark and solitary place, with little to no transition from the darkness below to the light above, according to Buddy

Persephone looked up to find her holding onto a boulder as she walked into the clearing. Her head low, eyes stuck on the ground as she squinted ahead of her in the blinding daylight.

She stood and reached out to try and help her.

“No— uh, I’m fine,” Hades chuckled, glancing periodically up at her face. “Just give me a moment, dear.”

Persephone stood there, for a moment, waiting for Hades to adjust to the buttery sunlight of the gardens. She couldn’t help but think about how Hades always had to go through all these obstacles just to see her, be with her.

“You know, I could come down there instead,” she said.

Hades said, “Not unless you go with Hermes. Or, gods forbid, Thanatos himself.”

Persephone huffed. “I could. Hermes isn’t half-bad.”

“That’s because you don’t discuss business with him. Or have even met him at all.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I never leave this place unless it’s with Demeter. And it’s always to either Olympus or just to help with those stupid crops. I want to see what it’s like where you go, so you don’t have to go out of your way just to see me.”

Hades smiled sardonically. “Believe me, darling. Meeting with you here is a breath of fresh air. Literally. No plants down there. Not even much to look at.”

Persephone reached out to her. Without a pause, Hades walked into her space.

“Do you get what I’m saying?” Vespa had asked.

Buddy blinked, then sobered. “Oh. Yes, yes, I think so. But, darling…”

“Ask me,” Vespa whispered as she leaned in.

“I would _love_ to, really but—”

“So, ask me.”

Buddy bit at her lip, which Vespa reached up to stop. “Why do you want to?”

“I want to see all of you,” she answered with a smile. “I want to see what you do and where you sleep at night. What other clothes you wear, what you do to pass the time… Just you. Unless you don’t want me to which,” she pulled away, feeling her confidence slip. “I mean, you don’t—” 

Buddy stepped away and Vespa didn’t come after her.

Then, Buddy’s hand was in the space between them, beckoning for her hand to slot into place like they were tailor-made to fit each other. Vespa looked at it, then at Buddy.

“Come home with me?”

* * *

Vespa and Buddy were having an argument in hushed whispers. 

Juno didn’t know what about and he couldn’t say he could really make sense of it if he could hear it.

Holding onto memories, even just in the first floor room of the Lighthouse in the middle of Hades, felt like trying to force water to stay in the palms of his hands.

“What song do you think Mista Ransom’s gonna sing, Mista Steel?”

He blinked, then looked to his side to see Rita observing Nureyev from where he stood tuning his tenor guitar.

Now that he was more focused, it was hard to ignore the way the stray chords echoed around them. His vision cleared and his mind decluttered with each echoing twang, as if his body and his soul were going to crash into each other.

And then it stopped.

“Mista Steel?”

Right, Rita had asked a question.

He thought about it. With fresher memories, he could remember snippets of a song, the same one that made his chest yearn with the sheer emotion of it. “I only know one. He’s been working on it for a long time. I don’t know if…”

“Oh, I’ve finished it.”

Juno looked up to see Nureyev standing in front of them, looking all cocky bravado. A part of Juno that was behind the wall he couldn’t crack knew that it was just a facade. Instead of bringing it up, he said, “When?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nureyev said, which was enough for Juno to think that he hadn’t finished it at all. He didn’t need all his parts to know that, just the nervous twitch to Nureyev’s smile.

Juno nodded.

“Rita, do you mind if me and uh, me and Ransom could talk in private for a bit?”

“What?” Rita blinked up between the two of them. Then, she smiled cheekily, “Oh! Well, why didn’t you just say so? I’ll be over there when it starts, Mista Steel. Break a leg, Mista Ransom!”

“Thank you, Miss Rita,” Nureyev called after her.

Juno reached forward and stopped right before he could come in contact with Nureyev.

He didn’t really know if he could even touch him. His hand was translucent, faded. When he looked up at Nureyev, their eyes met. 

Juno dropped his hand.

“Well?” Nureyev said.

Juno bit at his bottom lip in thought, studying the furrow between Nureyev’s brows. He didn’t have to shove down the feeling of wanting to smooth it out. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“Thanks,” he said. “For doing this for me.”

Nureyev shuffled a bit, bringing his guitar between them like a shield. “I don’t even know if it’ll work.”

And… that was wrong, wasn’t it?

Nureyev was never doubtful of himself, that much, Juno knew, even with his slipping memory and fading self. Nureyev knew his limits and knew when to push them. So, when he tried something, he knew he was going to win at it.

“It will,” Juno said with some force. “It’ll work.”

“How are you so confident?”

Juno smiled at his own words parroted back at him. “When you look at me, I am,” he said. “I believe in you.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Nureyev asked. “I’m not a god, remember? I can’t change the world.”

“Well, good thing it’s not the world you’re changing,” Juno reassured. “Just Buddy’s mind.”

Nureyev reached for him and Juno, impossibly, felt a hand on his shoulder.

He blinked down at it, then up, awestruck, at Nureyev.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Nureyev said.

Juno gently pushed Nureyev’s guitar to the side and stood at the tip of his toes to land a kiss by the edge of Nureyev’s frown, on the worried little wrinkle pulling it down. “But you still would have done it,” he whispered. “Good luck.”

Nureyev watched him as he stepped back, lingered on his lips or his smile. Juno didn’t know. He didn’t even know if Nureyev could see him completely at all, if he’d felt even a ghost of Juno’s kiss.

Then, like clouds parting, he smiled.

Just as Nureyev was about to leave, Juno called after him. “Hey. One thing.”

Nureyev turned.

“When you finish this, I have a question for you.”

“What?”

Juno shrugged, before making his way to where Rita was. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

* * *

That last spring, Hades had promised to try again, had promised to wait for her. 

And she had.

What Persephone didn’t know at the time was that it was going to be like that for _every_ fall. They end up going through a period of what she couldn’t really call _bliss_ , but they were happy for a while, and that had been enough for her. 

Hades, both the underworld _and_ the god, changed. She didn’t grow colder when Persephone came back, just became a little… _less_. There was no trying to impress her into staying. There wasn’t even much trying to make her leave (those years, she’d felt like Hades was about to try and get rid of her). No, Hades loved her, asked her about what had gone on in the surface, told her about her day. Asked for nothing that Persephone didn’t give readily.

In the relatively tense peace of it all, they rebuilt the Underworld from its foundations. More vegetation, less forced labor, and a candid effort to give shades an easier way to reincarnate. The occasional war hero, emboldened by the words of some poet, would stage an uprising while this happened. And though they were often unsuccessful, that didn’t make it any less inconveniencing.

By the end, it almost felt like they weren’t doing much work down there. In that time, eventually, Hades and Persephone became Buddy and Vespa. Thought when exactly, she didn’t remember.

What she could remember was that she became more tense about the other shoe that eventually had to drop. She didn’t know when or why, but she knew it was going to come. And that was while dealing with springs and riots and while still having the time to spend with Buddy, to kiss her and hold her in her arms.

Another millennia of working on each other passed before the War began. 

Things began intensifying. 

There’d been a steady pace with Earth’s mortality rates. Plagues brought a lot of work down to Hades in and of itself, and the intergalactic migration only served to further complicate things. 

Wars? Fine, Elysium was clearing out quickly these days anyway, and it was easier to convince the disturbed to move on that it was with the dissatisfied. 

But when the Solar Government stopped feeding people so they could start deploying nuclear warheads across the galaxy, well, a lot of things (and souls) went to Hades really quickly.

Buddy ended up rarely leaving the Lighthouse (more specifically, her office) after that, not even to take breaks, have some wine with Vespa by the fire, read a book or take a walk. She’d be forced to rest every now and then, especially when Vespa was back to stay for six month. But come morning, she’d be back in her office, dealing with the logistics of commands to give to the other gods in the realm.

So, Vespa began taking some of Buddy’s work, just so they could at least spend some time together before she had to leave. Buddy wasn’t terribly pleased about it, but she didn’t say she didn’t need it.

Sucked into their work Vespa found that, well, the surface could pass a month without spring. So she stayed.

And then a month turned into a year.

And then a year turned into three. 

She missed a total of five years before Buddy made her leave. And when she came back, Buddy looked worse for wear. 

Once was a mistake, twice was a coincidence, and thrice meant she didn’t care anymore. Spring or no, the workload didn’t let up. Uprisings became more and more common, and while Buddy was bogged down in sorting out their agenda, Vespa was forced to meet with the leaders and deal with it personally. 

It was sickening, how easy she got used to the pattern of deliberately ignoring her seasonal clock until one day she found Buddy sleeping on her desk, exhausted, missing a chunk of her form’s face.

“No, I’m staying down here,” Vespa said once she and Buddy laid down. She wasn’t going to rest, of course, but she wasn’t going to tell Buddy to leave her office so she could just change locations on where she worked. Vespa was going to make sure Buddy fell asleep for at least a few days semi-regularly. “I am not leaving you with this much work on your plate, Bud. We are sharing this domain.”

“But darling, what about—”

“Worry about yourself,” she snapped. “I’ll handle it, alright?”

“No, not _my_ work. What about yours—”

“I’ll. Handle it. Don’t make me call Hyp—”

“Yes, yes, I’m sleeping,” Buddy muttered, turning away from her. 

“Thank you,” Vespa kissed her shoulder. “It’s all I ask.”

Eventually, the work decreased. Not because the War was slowing down. No, there might be a few more years left in that stupid thing. 

The work decreased because Buddy insisted that she’d been rejuvenated after three days of sleep and decided that she could do all the work by herself.

That was what she’d feared. This, she thought, was the other shoe finally dropping.

* * *

Her comms (a new one, barely a century old) rang.

“Hello?”

“ _Vespa?_ ”

Hermes— no, _Jet_ was calling her.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

“ _I had just been reminded that I haven’t been able to communicate with you for a long time now. Nor have I seen you since. I checked, do you have time to come up?_ ”

Vespa sighed. She was going to have to, eventually, right? “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

* * *

Vespa crossed her arms, squinting at Buddy from across the room.

“What is it?” Buddy asked. She patted around her cheek. Her hand carefully avoided the left side of her face. “Is there something on my face?”

“Six months then I’ll be back, alright?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

“And… Buddy?”

“Yes, Vespa darling?”

“I love you.”

Buddy smiled, all dark lipstick and ingenuine. “Love you too, dear. Have fun up there.”

Vespa picked up her suitcase and left.

* * *

Every strum from Nureyev’s guitar echoed around the room, carrying his voice with it. It grasped a melody from the deepest recesses of her memory and showed her an angle of it she never once considered since she sang it long ago. It brought her back to every single time she held Vespa in her arms, every time she turned in cold sheets in springs and summers, and every time they kissed each other hello again.

If she closed her eye, she could almost see an Earth afternoon sky, could almost feel the wind whisper past her cheeks. It was like the first time all over again. It was just as she remembered and bettered.

She closed her eye but only because her vision was getting blurry as Nureyev’s song seemed to be winding down. A hand slotted into hers, and she didn’t have to see whose it was to know who it belonged to.

Nureyev paused, giving heed to the lovers whose love he'd been singing about.

Knowing how it went, Buddy continued for him. She turned to face Vespa, trying and failing to keep her tears from falling. Her throat constricted as she tried to keep her breathing even. She forced herself to stop before she could waver any further.

Vespa watched her, eyes shining with tears. Buddy wiped them away. Nothing in that room mattered, nothing mattered more than Vespa.

As Buddy pulled her hand away, Vespa stepped into her space and leaned her forehead against Buddy’s shoulder.

Her hands hovered around Vespa’s frame, unsure of what to do.

“I’ve done it again, haven’t I,” Buddy asked, the words almost stumbling off her tongue self-deprecatingly.

“I don’t blame you, Bud.”

“Not too much?”

Vespa laughed, or attempted to. It caught in her throat, Buddy could hear it. “Not at all,” she muttered, choked up. 

“I always thought it was my fault you—”

“I thought I was—” 

Buddy paused. Vespa gestured for her to go first. 

She didn’t know what she thought she’d been doing, when she started hogging all the work. Not _completely_ , that is. She knew what she'd told herself to justify it. She knew what hoops she jumped through. But she didn't know what she thought she was going to achieve. She was just desperate, hoping, in spite of herself, that Vespa could never leave because they didn't have time for each other anymore.

“I… assumed that you were growing a bit tired of the monotony. I mean, it’s understandable.”

“Buddy… you lost your eye for _that_?”

“I would do _anything_ for you,” she admitted. 

In her periphery, she could see Nureyev walking towards Juno and Rita, his song done. She didn’t even hear it end.

Not that it really mattered at that point.

Vespa gripped at the hem of her shirt. “That’s what scares me sometimes… You have to understand that some of the things you want to do to prove it, I _don't_ want you to do.”

This was going to be a long talk.

* * *

“What do you think they’re talkin’ about?” Rita sniffled. “Oh gods, they’re just too much.” She blew her nose. She shot up a few feet in the air.

“I don’t think we should try to know.” Juno wiped as sneakily as he could at the tears streaming down the side of his face.

"Ooh, I know, I know. It was just so… touchin'. They love each other so much!"

His attention was pulled away from Buddy and Vespa as Nureyev turned and started heading towards them.

He looked worried which made Juno worried. It was weird how that worked.

“I’ll give you two a moment, I need to go to the li’l harpies room anyway,” Rita said, elbowing Juno’s leg as she went.

Juno glanced at her. “You don’t have to—”

“Too late, already going, bye!” And with a gust of wind, and another blow to her handkerchief, Rita was gone. 

And by his side was Nureyev.

Nureyev sighed, almost in relief. “If that doesn’t work, well… At least it's done.”

Juno shook his head. “Are you kidding? That was great. The walls were literally shaking. Rita was crying!”

"As were you."

"No I wasn't."

Nureyev rolled his eyes, all fondness and soft edges. “You’re supposed to say that it was great, dear, you’re with me.”

Juno raised a brow at him and couldn't help the smile pulling up at his lips. “I do _not_. I don’t always tell you you look pretty or something, do I?”

“You definitely don’t,” he relented with a dramatic sigh. Then, he sobered, looking nearly as nervous as he was before his big performance. “So, dear, I think you were going to ask me something…”

“Right. Uh,” Juno glanced towards Buddy and Vespa.

He let out a laugh that was all breath and nerves as he looked up at Nureyev, trying not to fidget in place too much. “So. I know I… I messed up, pretty bad. And I told you I wanted to fix things before dropping the question but… since I’m confident of your chances,” he gestured towards Buddy and Vespa, “I think we might have more ahead of us. Well… if you’ll still have me.”

Nureyev regarded him, confused. “What are you saying?”

Juno rubbed at his arm. “What I’m _trying_ to say is… uh, I can’t be perfect, and I can’t guarantee that we’ll be happy all the time but if you still want me in your life, I’ll stay right by your side. Through thick and thin, and all that.”

Nureyev’s expression visibly softened. “Juno…”

He looked away, blinking down at the floor between them. 

“Stay with me,” Nureyev said, reaching out to put a hand on Juno’s arm. Warm. He was always so warm.

“I will,” he said, without hesitation.

Nureyev knelt down and met his gaze.

“What are you—”

“You're running circles around the question, dear, and I don’t appreciate that you're trying to beat me to it,” was his sardonic reply. Nureyev’s hand slid down from Juno’s arm to his wrist, before cradling his hand. “Juno Steel…"

A breath.

"Marry me.”

In lieu of an answer, Juno ducked down and kissed him, because he knew he could.

And it was so, _so_ worth it.

His heart sang as Nureyev pulled at the straps of his work clothes, making him hold onto his shoulders for support as they knelt, front to front, on the floor.

It was dizzying, in a good kind of way. It put away his doubts and thoughts even for just a moment, anchored his memories to the right place.

And since everything had an end to it, Juno had to pull away to rest their foreheads together. It didn’t leave him distraught, the thought of pulling away, only happy that the moment even happened, that they’d gotten to experience it together.

He whispered, “Take me home, Nureyev.”

* * *

“The audacity of those two.” She looked over where Nureyev and Juno were having their own heartfelt conversation all the way across the room. It was a happy one, one that warmed her heart to see despite everything.

Vespa snorted. “Right, ‘cause we’re the only two people allowed to have something like that, huh.”

Buddy gave her a sidelong glance. “Well look at them, darling, they aren’t even sure they’re leaving this place yet and they’re celebrating.”

That silenced Vespa.

“I’m sorry,” Buddy sighed. She turned to look at her wife. “I know what you told me, and I know it makes sense. I _want_ to let them go but…”

“No, it’s okay.” Vespa squeezed her hand. “It’s not your fault.”

Right.

“That’s not it, darling. It’s that no matter what he did to convince us he was only going to take Juno back, it’s a logistical nightmare.”

Vespa didn’t react. Only said, “Explain.”

Trying to think of something that wouldn’t come out sounding wrong, Buddy took a moment.

Nureyev never hadn’t been authorized to enter Hades, so it was still well within his rights to leave. He had come here of his own volition and as long as he didn’t start any funny business, he wasn’t Buddy’s problem. 

Juno on the other hand, had been authorized and had a contract with her. And though she could just let go of that as a minor misunderstanding, it stood to reason that if she couldn’t let any war heroes in Elysium go back the way they entered, she couldn’t let Juno go either.

“Hey,” Vespa said, touching her arm. “Talk to me. No making blind decisions.”

“I… apologize, got a bit lost in thought there.”

“Yeah, stay right here, silly,” Vespa smiled. “C’mon. Before Dumb and Dumber over there pressure you into something instead. No, don’t look. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

And… Buddy did. She had to, really. She owed it to Vespa, after two millennia of near radio silence.

It was a bit easier reordering her thoughts when they were coming out of her mouth, oddly freeing actually. Vespa was all serious, with that furrow to her brow and faraway look in her eyes. That was her thinking face, Buddy knew, and she knew well enough to keep on task instead of pointing it out.

Buddy sighed as Vespa thought over her explanation, glancing periodically towards Juno and Nureyev to make sure they were still there.

“I might have a plan,” Vespa said. 

Buddy turned to look at her. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s still technically the same deal from the last time this happened.”

“So, no turning back… But?”

Vespa sighed. “We might need that eye back. I know you wouldn’t have used it.”

“What for?”

“To seal the deal. If Steel’s corporeal for the walk back, it’s not a trial for Ransom at all. He needs to think he’s alone on his way back to Hyperion.” She reached into one of her pockets for her comms. “We need Jet to get Steel’s body back uptop.”

Buddy looked down at her, considering it for a second.

Vespa shifted her stance, bringing her comms up to her ear. She seemed to have already made up her mind and knew that Buddy was going to agree with her. Still, she said, “Well?”

Buddy leaned down to give her a peck on the other cheek. “Darling, that seems easy enough. Let’s go with that.”

Vespa rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. “You’re _really_ laying it thick on those compliments, huh?”

Buddy cooed, pinching her side.

“Ow!”

“Don’t be a baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of this was...... written Just now hours before the update. i went through it with as small a fine-toothed comb i could find but there's still a chance of some typos and grammar errors in there so uh. sorry?
> 
> fun facts (mostly personal):  
> \- i've written nonlinear before so i have a talent for knowing how to measure how these things go. sadly, i haven't written nonlinear recently so if it seems a bit janky, rest assured, it is Not a style choice skdjfh. though, i do have a lot of experience with changing between names and what identities are attached to those on the same character (if you've seen my writing from the foxhole court, yeah). this is just the first tim i've done it for actual trans characters though!  
> \- a big inspiration to this little dip in the hades/persephone as lesbians thing was [sarah diemer's the dark wife](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11672159-the-dark-wife) which i read sometime in 2016. i think it was my first foray in a hades/persephone remake. and well, look where i am and what i'm writing. i do recommend it though, it's a good, quick read.  
> \- i......... was struggling through this, and for the longest time, i was dreading writing this part of the musical because... its such a big scene. i hope i did it justice.
> 
> see you all next week!


	9. a mind to its undoing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spite of his doubts and anxieties about how everything could go wrong, Juno wrangled together the hope that they got out of this together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be an image in this fic! its mostly to illustrate the current scene and i think doesnt need a big image description. if you still want me to add one, let me know!
> 
> just a big shout-out, again, to my friends for doing a last pass of this before it went up. i've been really anxious about this considering im literally about to post the last chapters. 
> 
> so big thanks to [jeannette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/entropyre) and [north](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup) for the cheerleading, as well as to [danny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goinghost) and [TheaterGeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheaterGeek) for the consistent comments per chapter it... it really means a lot this au is so niche.
> 
> [deep breath] without further ado... see you on the other side.

The path Nureyev took down to Hades was dark and, according to him, impossibly lengthy.

“It took me a few…” Nureyev trailed off, then looked at Juno. “I don’t even know if it _did_ take me days or if it was just hours. My comms turned off the moment I stepped in there and the only thing I had was…” Nureyev trailed off again and blinked, his gaze suddenly far off.

“What?”

He stepped away from Juno to put his bag down and rummage through it. “I almost forgot about this. I have something to light it with in here… Ah, this,” he pulled out… a candle.

But not just any candle. It was Juno’s.

Well, Benten’s really. If he remembered correctly, and he _was_ trying to, he’d left it on the kitchen counter before…

He took it from Nureyev, turning it in his hands. “Why’d you take this with you?”

It seemed like Nureyev wasn’t going to answer, still sorting through the backpack for something to light the candle with. Juno was fine leaving it rhetorical, really. Parting ways with the thing and Nureyev hadn’t been voluntary, but in the state he was in, he could barely remember why he hadn’t.

There was only loneliness in the ghosts of those memories, loneliness so big that it threatened to consume him—it almost had.

He didn’t remember how so, but the fact that it even existed and had cost him… It cost him a lot.

He shrugged it off, and he was about to keep himself moving forward, but then Nureyev said, “It was yours.”

Juno looked up at him, reeling back to what he’d asked. “What, were you going to bring it to me?”

“No, I was going to keep it.”

Oh.

Nureyev looked away, rubbing at his arm.

Juno took a deep, unnecessary breath.

They hadn’t talked about that. They didn’t have the time to.

Simultaneously, Juno was glad that Nureyev had been planning to leave and was glad that Nureyev hadn’t left at all. If he had a body at the moment, he was sure his stomach would have started aching at the thought of having to reconcile with both emotions at once.

From where they stood at the mouth of the cave leading up to Mars, he could feel phantom gusts of storm winds. Without skin, his soul— _he_ felt a shiver run up his spine, almost making him tremble in place. Just the intensity of the memory of the biting cold of Mars’ storm seasons was enough to make him like this, what would happen if he managed to come back?

He couldn’t say he missed it, not with how unnaturally warm Hades had been. But…

Nureyev finally came up from the backpack with a plasma lighter. Juno let him light the candle still in his hands and for a moment, the memory was gone.

With Peter Nureyev by his side, the cold really was preferable to anything.

“Ready?” He asked, extending the candle with both hands, moving to hand it over but not quite ready to part with it yet.

Nureyev smiled.

He was scared. Juno didn’t know how he knew, but there wasn’t a single ounce of confidence in those eyes, even if he acted like it.

And there was an irony in there that Juno wasn’t a hundred percent sure he wanted to analyze. Something about Benten’s death and Juno’s decisions and Nureyev being left with no one.

Luckily, he didn’t have much time to think about it. Almost reverently, Nureyev stepped into his space, supporting Juno’s fading hands with his own warm hands. He leaned down, and Juno leaned up.

It was a chaste kiss. Just pure reassurance. Nureyev’s eyes didn’t shut as he did it, drinking in Juno’s faded features as much as he could. The final good look at him before the trial started.

Buddy wouldn’t trick them. The gods were good at a lot of things, but only one of them ever lied convincingly. This was an honest trial, no tricks or traps. Nureyev had to lead him to the surface without turning to look if Juno was following.

“Do you trust me?” Juno asked.

“I do.”

“Good. Love you.”

Nureyev took a deep breath, then smiled. This one, Juno could see, had a bit of hope for redemption in it, like two simple words from Juno’s lips had breathed life into him. “I love you too, dear.”

Juno carefully put the candle into Nureyev’s hands. “Let’s go.”

When he moved to grab their bags, he saw that Rita was there but the bags weren’t.

“Hiya, Mista Steel, Mista Ransom.”

Nureyev jumped, having only noticed her.

Juno looked around for their things before squinting down at her. “Rita, where—”

“I was told to bring your things up to Mista Jet’s,” she explained, nervously fluttering about as she spoke. “I just dropped by again to say hi! I mean, bye! I mean, we can still talk every now and then, when Lord A doesn’t need me for anythin’.”

She paused for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. Juno had only known her for a moment but he knew she wasn’t the type to gather her thoughts on the fly for so long. “It’s just… It’s been so nice to have you guys around down here and I’ll… I’ll really miss you.”

“We’ll come back eventually,” Nureyev quipped drily. Juno elbowed him.

“Oh, no need! I’ll come to you!” Rita said, then, with a gust of wind that had Juno closing his eye, he was being hugged, tightly. “I’ll miss you guys!”

A little too tightly actually. Juno took a moment before he patted her on the head, mostly to try and get her to loosen up a bit. “Y-yeah, Rita. We’ll miss you too. Be seein’ you.”

“What, no hug for me?” Nureyev deadpanned.

Juno snorted. “You’re holdin’ something, you don’t get a hug.”

“Aw, just come over here, Mista Ransom!”

“No, Miss Rita, he’s right,” he sighed dramatically, turning away from them with a flair. “I _am_ holding a candle and I’m afraid I can’t hold it against you.”

Juno rolled his eye. “Don’t even bother, Rita. We gotta get going anyway.”

“Oh!” Rita giggled, waving her hands as she finally let go of Juno’s middle and stepped away. “I won’t keep you then. Good luck!”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t watch her leave, fearing that he might have second or third thoughts about being happy down here.

And, well, there was a comfort in that too, wasn’t there?

If this didn’t work out, as much as he believed in Nureyev, he’ll at least have Rita. Maybe even Buddy and Vespa. Jet, if he could be assed to visit. He’d wait, hoping that, if Nureyev ever went to find something else worth his hopefully long life, he could tell Juno about it when they meet again.

As Nureyev stepped towards the mouth of the dark, dark tunnel, Juno followed.

Nureyev pulled up his mask, thin and covering most of the bottom of his face, from his jaw to the bridge of his nose, stretching up from ear to ear.

As he did this, Juno could feel himself fade ever so slightly more, almost invisible as he could nearly stare straight through his finger tips. If Nureyev tried to cast a shadow behind him, he would only find one. When he took a step forward, his footsteps made no sound either.

The trial had begun, then. Just like that.

In spite of his doubts and anxieties about how _everything_ could go wrong, Juno wrangled together the hope that they got out of this together.

* * *

Vespa sat by the window of her office, overlooking Hades.

Below, the rumbling continued as if nothing had happened. By the minute, new people were still coming and leaving, the other gods keeping the place running while _they_ dealt with their personal issues.

Buddy didn’t know where the breach was, where the pair were going to exit Hades. She was sure she wasn’t allowed to know, and she didn’t even think she wanted to either.

She tried to get back to her work, tried to keep her mind off of it.

And when none of that succeeded, Buddy leaned against the backrest of her chair and sighed.

“Darling.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

Vespa scoffed, which made Buddy’s lips twitch into a smile. “They better. All they gotta do is reach the whatever surface of Mars that Ransom walked in from without turning back once.”

There’s a hint of frustration there, no doubt remembering what had happened once she realized Eurydice hadn’t made it.

Buddy had been there, had seen the way Eurydice’s face fell and, eventually faded. It took a few more years before Orpheus followed suit but, by then, Eurydice had already reincarnated.

Vespa had been uncharacteristically upset about it, and though Buddy had asked her why, she still couldn’t understand completely.

Spinning the pen between her fingers, she couldn’t help but think that she finally did.

Juno and Nureyev were so much like her and her wife, to an almost uncomfortable degree. They were so young, so green, yet as devoted to each other as old lovers rarely were.

And it made her want them to win too.

* * *

There’s a _drip_ , _drip_ , _dripping_ in the tunnels, echoing the fall of Nureyev’s footsteps and _his_ footsteps alone.

It was a good beat, steady as a heartbeat, like Mars was a giant being, asleep in its depths.

It kept him company in the dark. It was something to keep his mind off of how his footsteps shouldn’t be in the dark alone.

Juno had promised, had let him propose, had proclaimed his love. Surely, he wouldn’t—

No, don’t think about it.

Stubbornly, he kept climbing onwards and hummed a tune under his breath.

* * *

Vespa turned to her. “What about you?”

“Pardon?”

“Think they got a chance?”

Buddy sighed. As she’d said, wanting to and being able to were two different things. “As much as one does, considering I was the one who got them into this mess in the first place.”

Vespa rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Just… It’s not your fault if Ransom turns around. You know that, right?”

“The first time I gave this trial, I knew it was going to drive him up the wall without that moral support so yes, in some ways, it actually is.”

“That was _then_ , Bud. This is now. Ransom’s got a skull thicker than most asteroids when it comes to no turning back. Hell, he grew _up_ on no turning back. He’s not going to give up that easily.”

Buddy held her tongue. There were some things one just didn’t tell their wife even after being married since the beginning of time.

Vespa had been right.

She was like Nureyev in many ways, including that if she thought Vespa wasn’t with her, she’d start panicking. No matter how easily she could take on the world, it was always knowing that Vespa was at her side. Thinking that Vespa had left? That she’d been tricked into believing that they were doing this together? That was her worst nightmare.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” she relented.

* * *

Now that he listened to it intently, as he’d had no other choice, the dripping and the footsteps didn’t really feel like the right tempo for the song he’d been working on since he met Juno.

But, just because he had a bigger project didn’t mean he had nothing else being written. Half the reason he’d taken so long on the bigger project was because it kept turning into different songs. All with the same overarching theme.

The melody was easy to think about. Despite having thought of a different one when he met Juno, this was every bit a love song for him, really. One Nureyev had been planning to sing, if eventually, Juno had asked him to propose again.

Given the circumstances back in Hades… well. He didn’t really know if the setting was at all appropriate to sing Juno a love song in the midst of their euphoria and the shadow that loomed over it.

“ _I don’t know how or why, or who am I that I should get to hold you. But when I saw you all alone against the sky, it’s like I’d known you all along…_ ”

It was odd, to hear his voice echoing back to him, but he pushed on, trying to remember the lyrics he’d written down.

“ _I knew you before we met. But I didn’t even know you yet. All I know’s… All I kn—_ oh… Rita should have asked before bringing the backpack with her,” he muttered. Louder, so he was sure Juno could hear him. “I don’t quite know the whole song, dear. Maybe when we reach the top and I get my hands on my notebook, I’ll sing it to you properly, hm? It’ll be a whole production, just you wait.”

As if he hadn’t expected it, he sighed when he heard no response.

It wasn’t even that his mask didn’t transmit his voice or the sounds around him. Really, the problem wasn’t that or that he didn’t trust that Juno would be following him.

As the trial-givers were gods, he knew there had to have been _some_ kind of catch. He wasn’t that naïve. Grateful as he was for the coming of Spring on Mars, Nureyev could only trust Buddy and Vespa as far as he could throw them.

So, making it so Nureyev couldn’t hear Juno behind him? Fine.

That was fine.

He took a deep breath, passed the candle off to his other hand, and kept climbing.

* * *

She checked her wristwatch. “Vespa darling, it’s almost time for spring.”

There was some shuffling that had Buddy looking up. Vespa only stood there, staring at her.

Buddy stared right back.

Realizing that Buddy wasn’t going to follow that up, Vespa asked, “Do you want me to go?”

Buddy rolled her eye. “It’s hardly about wants, love. You have a job to do.”

Vespa sighed, moving to stand. “Yeah, I was afraid of that. Alright. I’m going.”

“What are you talking about?”

Vespa scoffed, “You were exactly like this before I went up last time. Am I not allowed to be doubtful that you’ll—” She grunted, cutting herself off.

“No, no, finish your sentence,” Buddy goaded. She didn’t know what she was doing. “I want to hear it.”

“Do _not_ pull that act on me, Bud. I’m not coddling you just because you’re sounding upset. It’s _my_ turn to be upset. How am I supposed to believe you’ll be okay just because you’re letting me go do my job consistently again? And be serious, there’s still that stupid War going on and it’s far from over. You still need help with things down here whether you admit it or not.”

She…

Well, she couldn’t even stay mad.

Vespa was right. And Buddy wasn’t just thinking that because she wanted to appeal to her wife, Vespa just _was_. And maybe Buddy was beyond all the chances she’d been given to change by now.

But she wanted to _try_.

She stood from her seat and circled around the table to stand in front of her wife.

Gone was the closeness from the viewing room before, no near-hugging warmth between them, no reminiscences of the past. Just Vespa with her shoulders squared for a shouting match that they were both too tired to have.

“I have to admit that I _don’t_ want you to go,” Buddy said almost haltingly. “As much as I don’t want to place an insurmountable amount of pressure on you, it is ultimately your decision whether you want to handle your duties on the surface as much as you want to assist with mine down here. But this time, I… trust that you’ll come back, and I will try to pace myself properly. I’ll even ask Rita to help.”

Vespa watched her.

“You will, won’t you?” Buddy felt something lodged in her throat by the end of that question, but she ignored it. “Come back home, I mean.”

Instead of answering, Vespa sighed.

She fished her comms out of her pocket, shaking it to show Buddy as she spoke. “If you need my help or just miss me or _anything_ , just call me instead of pulling me out early, alright? That’s the boundary. You either let me come up there for six months or you let me help you down here.”

Buddy nodded grimly. She should have thought of that, really. As expected of her Vespa.

Then, Vespa smiled at her, a flower through cracks of concrete of a smile. It was the same one she had when she came back that first fall Buddy had promised they’d try again, excited and a bit scared of things to come.

For the first time in a long time, Buddy thought this might actually work.

No. No, that was wrong. They _had_ to make it work. They were _going to_ make this work. She’d make sure of it this time.

“You’ll wait for me?” Vespa said, less of a question and more like something demanding a response of some kind.

With more conviction than she could muster, what stumbled out of Buddy’s mouth to accommodate her was, “I will.”

* * *

The dripping had stopped.

He didn’t know how long they’ve been going or how long since the dripping stopped. What he did know was that he was getting tired.

Maybe this was the trial adjusting itself to his comfort levels. Maybe he'd gotten a bit too complacent, too confident that this was going to be an easy task.

He could still feel the breeze coming in from above, could barely see anything over the inclined path, could barely hear the slight whistle of wind. It could have just been that it was night on Mars, but it didn’t seem like they were getting any closer to the end of the tunnel.

_What if this was all just a trick?_

The question echoed in his head louder than his footsteps in the dark or the loose rocks skittering back down into the depths.

He wouldn’t put it past the galaxy to screw him over in one ironically fated twist.

He believed, of course, in the inherent cruelty of the galaxy. What’s been in place for so long won’t just change because somebody pointed out how the world _could have been_ instead of trying to make it work better than how it was. One had to suffer, to work for it, instead of instant gratification. Life was always an uphill battle and taking a break would make the mountain grow taller.

That had been a lesson he’d learned from Brahma: choosing his battles. A lesson he couldn’t quite beat out of himself fast enough before he met Juno.

 _Show your heart through your deeds_ , he’d remind himself every night since leaving New Kinshasa, an echoing and haunting reminder of what he’d done on Brahma, and how far he’d come from the Peter Nureyev standing in that control room with blood on his hands.

He’d pluck and strum at the strings of his guitar as he traveled from place to place, learning how to use it just so he wouldn’t forget that melody from New Kinshasa’s square. He let it haunt him, let it remind him of who and what he once was lest he forget as the years passed.

So, you see, Juno wasn’t the only one with his fair share of ghosts. It was just that Juno did a lot more to escape them while Nureyev used his to keep himself _him_.

Juno had brought the winds as he entered Jet’s pub years after Brahma, and blew on the dying embers of _Peter Nureyev_ by just… existing. There was no need for him to play that tune, nor was there any more reason for him to remind himself of all of the “rules number one’s.” He just had to be with Juno, and Peter Nureyev would also exist.

It felt fated, from their first conversation to that last kiss.

It felt unreasonably unfair that he’d meet Juno only to have this happen to them.

He didn’t bother trying to hide the way that he was trembling or the way that he was crying as he took each agonizing step farther and farther out of Hades, closer and closer to Mars.

If there was no one behind him, there wasn’t a point in stifling his infernal sniffling.

If Juno wasn’t here, he didn’t see a reason not to cry.

* * *

Juno saw when Nureyev began crying.

In fact, he could see a lot more than he thought he would in that cavern of a tunnel back home.

He’d been wrong.

He’d been so _terribly_ wrong.

This wasn’t a trial just for Nureyev, it was punishment for him as well.

How _dare_ he think he was going to move on from Peter Nureyev that easily?

How dare he think that seeing his partner break down in front of him, thinking he was alone, thinking all other kinds of things Juno couldn’t dissuade him from thinking—

How could Juno Steel think this trial wasn’t made specifically to make him think about what he’d given up for— for some fitful eternal rest.

“C’mon, Nureyev, we’re almost there,” he said, reaching out. He watched his hand pass through the trembling fingers swaying by Nureyev’s side as he walked.

And he wasn’t lying. About seven more yards and they’d be through.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Juno said. Nureyev couldn’t hear him but he had to try something. “But this isn’t a trick, Nureyev. You just have to trust me. You don’t have any reason to. I hurt you, I left you. And I thought I could just forget you.

“But I was literally forgetting everything about who I was and where I came from, and when I laid down to catch a break, there you were… Promising me that you’d stay. And I believe you. And I wish I could tell you that I want to stay too, I wish you could hear me right now. So at least let me have that chance, Nureyev.”

Nureyev, unhearing and unseeing despite his candle—Juno’s candle, Benten’s—slowed to a stop.

By the mouth of the exit.

Just one more step.

“No,” Juno muttered. “Don’t, don’t. Just keep walking. Just a few more. _Please_.”

* * *

Wind, a loud gust of it, blew out the candle.

Nureyev blinked blearily against the smoke wafting into his face instead of past it, then looked up to see red.

Red sand, red walls and a dome nearby.

Nureyev dropped the candle, then ran straight out of the cave, cursing his aching shins to keep him going.

And when he finally made out onto red sand, he fell to his knees, upsetting a cloud of dust, the tear tracks on his face drying in the cold Martian night as he looked up to see stars and stars and asteroids beyond— looked around to see haulers and ships he can wave to for entry into Hyperion City.

This wasn’t the entrance to Hades he went into. In fact, this was significantly farther into Hyperion from where he knew he’d branched off from the old subway. Regardless, the euphoria came from the same thought.

They made it out.

He muttered, “We made it out.”

He pushed himself up to standing, feeling a smile threatening to split his face in two. He turned, “Juno, we—”

And the mouth of the tunnel stood empty, save for the candle on the floor, wax pouring out and drying just as quick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am... so so sorry.
> 
> but also i'm not lmao
> 
> no fun facts this week, only pain.
> 
> it ends next week. i'll see you then!


	10. an old song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day the War ended and Spring came back to Hyperion, it was just like any other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it ends

The War ended as it had started: with a death and no one realizing it till it was too late.

This was unsurprising, of course. There wasn’t a day in the galaxy that started without something ending before anyone noticed it.

The day the War ended and Spring came back to Hyperion, it was just like any other.

The sun didn’t shine over Oldtown the way it did in the city proper. In the city, everything glowed and hummed with life, the way life tended to sing wherever it went.

Instead of the proper blue sunrise, Oldtown’s skies were a forced white and gray. The buildings were a uniform smoggy gray on beige paint. Everything was washed and dusty and red. If life prospered here, it did not show it. Yet.

That morning, everything was fresher in Oldtown than it was in the city proper.

No one (not even the ground itself) had noticed Spring’s return and so, no one noticed him burying something under the first tree behind the pub. He pulled his gloves off and tried not to think about the empty bedspace in the Ruby.

“I should’ve known better than to hope for something.”

Jet moved to wipe his tears away, but it was a moot point. They ran as freely as the winds by the dome. “If no one hoped for anything, would it have happened at all?”

Vespa sighed. “I don’t know if it’s worth all that trouble if we know how it ends anyway.”

“You don’t know how close they were to getting it this time.

“So we wait until they do it again and hope that Chaos itself finally nudges all the pieces together and they finally win? Doesn’t it get tiring?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Without much else to say, Vespa sighed.

She made her way to Jet’s side. The grave and its recently turned soil grew grass as she did. They both watched this happen passively, minds off elsewhere.

“Let me guess, he left?”

“He had. I do not blame him. And if he leaves for Hades again, I will not stop him.”

“What? He didn’t even pay his respects? Just left?”

Jet rubbed at his knuckles, “Juno didn’t make it. His body was dead before they could even—”

“No, sorry, what?”

It was Jet’s turn to sigh this time. “Rita brought him up a week before they made it out of the tunnel. Without a soul, I couldn’t very well nourish a soulless body by itself, Vespa. I’m multifaceted, not omnipotent. Medicine couldn’t have cured this and neither is it my business.”

“Safe travels, though,” Vespa grumbled out. “That’s your business.”

“I understand that this has frustrated you but I am mourning the death of a friend and you are blaming it on me,” Jet laid out as evenly as he could. “Neither you nor Buddy even asked properly if I was willing to harbor him or to try to help them. And even if you had, I couldn’t have saved him anyway.”

A pregnant pause.

Jet took a few deep breaths.

“Sorry.”

Jet sniffed, swallowing the guilt in his throat that had been there since he met Juno. “I tried to warn him.”

“What, explicitly?”

He did not answer that. Instead, he said, “He just wanted to live. I think he could have, if he hadn’t met any of us. Had I turned him by the door, Ransom would not have proposed and he would not be buried under a fig tree in my backyard.”

“Lying to yourself? Bit fresh of you. Like you said, we had no other choice. So, the question is: what’s the point of doing this at all?”

Jet shrugged, tired of the conversation, tired of having to lose friends, tired of Fate.

“… need a drink, pal?”

Jet turned to walk back into the pub. “I need to take something apart. You are free to pay your respects and if Ransom shows up, make yourself scarce.”

And while the gods mourned, the people celebrated Spring, brought back by the song of a dead poet only some have heard the melody of.

They say poets never truly die. An old saying really, but not as old as song itself. It was meant to mean that the sentiment of their art passes on, that it is sung, acted, spoken, and seen without sound, without sight, and without touch.

And though we could suppose there’s a truth to it, sentimentality aside, the artist _always_ dies.

The same could be said for this one.

He died alone as he had been born and as he had briefly lived. It does not matter how or why, just that he did. And without judgement by the gates or token by the banks, he was given passage. He was ferried with everyone else, the buzz of his memories fresh in his mind.

And on the other side, he was welcomed by a hand slotting into his own, fitting perfectly like a key to his locked heart.

His other half said, worried and concerned, “You’re early.”

And he wept and crumpled, whispering, “I missed you,” into his half’s shoulder.

And it is a facet of love, this pointless devotion to a failed cause. He had walked out of hell and had gotten comeuppance. His other half had hoped and hoped, and waited and waited, and had gotten nothing.

But still they sat by the banks of the Styx, holding each other, saddened by all that had happened, but relieved to have each other through it all.

Up above, a War had ended and Spring had come back.

They will pass on, perhaps when they’ve had their satisfactions filled within Elysium. And the cycle will restart. Maybe next time, they won’t even have to do it while having to deal with the seasons changing.

For now, Juno and Nureyev walk hand in hand, side by side, finally together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG BIG BIG THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ THIS AND LIKED IT
> 
> especially for [jeannette](https://twitter.com/entropyre) and [sameer](https://twitter.com/mangcltrus) for the emotional support throughout this entire fic.
> 
> i love all of youuuuuuu <3 please take care <3

**Author's Note:**

> (20 Aug 2020) this will be updating every thursday, 9pm manila time
> 
> you can find me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/stubborn_jerk) or [on tumblr](https://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com) but, if you've got questions, feel free to ask them in the comments and i will answer them, if they're nonspoiler-y. otherwise, you will be getting this: 👁👄👁
> 
> non-question comments, shouting, and overall keyboard smashing will be appreciated verily.


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